I binged-watched most of Season 3 of How to Get Away with Murder the other night. I didn’t even realize I had been in front of the TV for over five hours until the next day when I thought to calculate. I remember I stopped at 2:13 a.m. and counted back. My older daughter told me I started around 8:30 p.m. I couldn’t believe it at first. It was too disgusting to admit it to be true. The worse part was actually not feeling like I’d spent that long sitting on the couch, staring at the screen, hour after hour, for five fucking hours.

But then I did it again last night. This time for six hours. At least. I know I turned off the tv at 3:06 a.m. I’d say I started at around nine last night, maybe a few minutes earlier, while my husband sat with me on his laptop. I barely remember him getting up to go to bed, carrying our 5-year old with him.

I did wake up at 8 o’clock this morning to take care of the kids and clean up the kitchen, hopefully to make up for being so lame and such a slacker.

It’s just so nice to be able to relax, veg, and not have to worry about the kids or be interrupted by them. It’s my only time I have to myself, not cringing inside, dreading that time someone’s gonna yell because they need something or it’s time for me to prepare their meals.

After the kids get to bed is the largest block of time I have to myself and I guess I push it for as long as I possibly can but I end up suffering badly the next day. During the day, I’m lucky if I even get a full hour straight to myself without any intrusion or disruption. But there’s no way I can continue to do this since it’s pretty difficult to function well the next day. I have to come up with some time for myself without having to stay up until past midnight. This is getting ridiculous.