Reveling in the regression

{  The morning after  |  View from the East River Esplanade  |  Lower Manhattan  }

There's something deliciously illicit about staying up late, after everyone has tucked themselves in for the night—both in my apartment, and from the looks of the dark windows across the way from ours, in our neighborhood, too. When I have the whole couch to myself, the cushions and nested coffee tables arranged just the way I like them and the whole world wide web available to me to putter about in for as long as I like. The TV's on low, some nonsense that I've already seen is playing, just to keep me company. I like being alone, but not too alone, and the digital chatter is just enough to keep things sociable without infringing on my bubble. I usually have a tangle of yarn at my toes, too—I'm nothing if not an excellent multi-tasker.

The green glow of the microwave clock, which is now just a glorified time keeper, is the only reminder that I've edged into tomorrow. That and the slow, steadily-increasing droop of my eyelids. By the time I finally find my way to bed I'm already chastising myself for doing this again.

Because come morning I'll be burny-eyed and achy-headed, and even though I know it, I still pull this tomfoolery every few weeks. Why, I don't know. It's like why babysitters the world over (I'm assuming), always take parents at their word when they say "help yourself" and once the kids go to bed they find themselves watching some silly Lifetime movie with a bowl of popcorn, bar of chocolate, and saucer of ice cream on the table in front of them. Or, why kids prop up a flashlight under the covers to keep reading the scary book even though they're supposed to have the lights out.

I have a big birthday coming up and maybe I keep doing this, even though I know I don't bounce back the way I used to, because it's my tiny rebellion against time. My teensy stake in the ground of, yes I'm getting older, yes, people keep asking when we're going to start having kids, but I don't care! I'm basking in my blissful state of childless, semi-yuppy freedom and staying up until 2AM reading blogs and you can't stop me.

That could be it.