I love going to bed at night, as it is my favorite time of day. Another one completed, only so many more to go. No matter what, I always go to bed around eleven o’clock at night. I am obsessed with maintaining this part of my daily schedule. It is a ritual, only one of a few that I maintain from day to day, week to week, month after month, year after year.
I either walk or crawl up the stairs to the bedroom, depending upon how tired from the day I feel. I kick myself out of my clothes, and then go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When this ritual is over, I void myself of the last remaining fluids that remain from the day, and then make my way to the bed, ready to be face down in the pillows, soon to be riding the flying carpet of my dreams.
My girlfriend comes to me after going through her own evolutions toward the intended aim of slumber. We sleep in separate beds, due to a number of reasons: different sleep schedules, different levels of sleep, different patterns of sleep, different qualities, and levels of devotion to the god of sleep.
She sleeps to rid herself of the misery of toil of the working world, and to rest and rejuvenate herself physically to participate in the same way, going through the same motions, day after endless day.
I, on the other hand, sleep hard into myself, to escape this world and become unknown to myself. Asleep I believe I am travel to some far off and magical place, to become my true self, the ideal of myself in another world, that although I have no recollection when I arise, I can still enjoy the effects of, during the days when I wander aimlessly in this world.
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