2 days ago, I lied awake at 4:37am in the morning. I thought of reading myself to exhaustion instead of wasting my time trying to get back to sleep.
But then I remembered I was given the “No Reading” mandate. My other half can’t sleep with the lights on and he doesn’t encourage me to read in the loo, some kind of weird superstition. I don’t have a torchlight, or a head lamp, neither do we have a separate room in our studio flat. No light comes through the window on the winter days not until 9am in the morning.
The first time I felt the frustration of itching to read and was prohibited to scratch the itch.