I have something to confess. It's something I've only ever spoken to my mom about, and only because she admitted to it first.
My favourite part of the day is when I get to go to bed.
I've never wanted to admit that. Why does this weigh on my conscience so much? Because I'm supposed to be some gun ho go get 'em type person, pursuing mastery and such. But I love going to bed, snuggling up against my fluffy pillow, burrowing deep into the sheets, sinking into the soft-yet-supporting mattress. My bed is six feet behind me now and it's calling my name. Softly, determinedly.
So, I'm accepting it. No, I'm not going to try to change it. Try changing your favorite color, it just doesn't work that way.
I love bedtime. It's wonderful and makes me happy.
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