Most nights I resolve to get to bed by midnight. And most nights I’m still awake at Two a.m. and I can see myself heading that way again. I’d vaguely known that it’s a rebelling against Mother thing, but nothing can put it as well as this great little poem caught on the Urchin Movement’s poetry site:
‘GROWN-UP’ BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?
Don’t you love that? ‘Domestic as a plate…’