Lily Pugh’s bed had become a portal to hell.
She didn’t know this, of course, or else she would have found another room to sleep in that night. Instead, she made herself a cup of tea, played some soft music on her bluetooth speaker, and read a book until late at night. It was a mostly-nightly ritual of hers, a turn down from the night and a focus on preparing herself for sleep. It wasn’t too long ago that her nights were spent out in bars or clubs, drinking $20 watered down drinks and dancing with sweaty, handsy strangers. She would go to bed drunk and wake up sick and dehydrated, or even still drunk some mornings. But she was 40 now, by all accounts an actual grown up, and had decided she needed to start acting like one.
It was… good, actually. She enjoyed the quiet time by herself. She was happy to start reading again, and loved waking up actually feeling rested the next day. She loved coming in to work and listening to her younger colleagues talk about their underwhelming nights out and remember that, not too long ago, she was in their same shoes.