Saturday, 5 February 2011
I know that I should go to bed. It's late and the rest of my family are asleep. The clock's ticked past midnight and the mice are waiting patiently for me to retire so that they can come out to play.
The haunting hush of the house is interrupted only by the occasional click of the baby monitor as my little one stirs in his cot, and my typing echoes in the silence of a world that's sunk deep into sleep.
But although my eyelids are heavy and my limbs feel dipped in lead I'm sitting in the lamplight of the living-room whilst the minutes tick on into the morn.
Because these silent moments, when the rest of the world is asleep, are the secret, stolen moments that belong solely to me.
They're the moments when blogging is not a distraction and knitting is not an indulgence, when chores are all forgotten and when responsibility, accountability and interruptions are gone.
And so although my bed is warm and soft and I really should get some rest, I'm still sitting in the lamplight of the living-room, and savouring these stolen moments when I'm free to simply please me.