I meant to go to bed early last night. I really did. I made it through a full day of work, and came home exhausted. I would cheerfully have gone to bed and slept for a good twelve hours.
Except that, well, I have children.
So we did homework, and got Firstborn into bed. No muss, no fuss, no big deal.
Secondborn, by contrast... Secondborn didn't want to sleep. We got him into his room and onto his bed. I read a book with him and tucked him in. I turned off the lights. I fetched various cars, helicopters, and trains. I sat with him. I cuddled with him.
He didn't sleep.
Lights Out happened at eight thirty. I think he finally drifted off to sleep at ten thirty. By then I'd completely overshot my window for going to sleep, and I was all like, "Wheee! I'm so awake! I couldn't sleep now if I wanted to! Gaaaaaah! But, wheeee! Maybe I'll make some toast and read for a while. Or coffee, I could make - no, bad idea, no coffee. Why can't I sleeeeeeeeeeeep???"
So now, of course, I'm one of The Walking Dead. Or at least The Walking SemiCatatonic. Urrrrrrrrrrrrr! Want braaaaaaains! My own, for a start!