A quiet house

It’s 11:30 p.m. Way past my bedtime! But everyone else is asleep and the house is so quiet…invitingly quiet. Even the dishwasher is silent.

I make myself some tea and buttered raisin toast. 

What the heck, two slices.

I knit a bit, write a bit. I savour the quiet and peace and taste of my tea. Of perfectly buttered toast.

Toys are strewn across the floor, evidence of child whirlwinds from earlier in the day. Evidence that we weathered the storm, once again. That the little hurricanes are in slumber, at least for now. 

I knit a bit, write a bit. 

My activity is like a silent protest against my exhaustion, against the monotony of routine. I will not let a quiet house go to waste tonight, dammit!

I knit a bit, write a bit.

My eyeballs are feeling the dry soreness of fatigue.

Oh well, it was only a small slice of the night. But it was mine.

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