I generally like going to bed. When I’m exhausted, that’s a given; it’s wonderful when you get to stop fighting your tired brain’s attempts to go into power-saving mode. But I also like lying in bed when I’m not in immediate danger of falling asleep. It’s a chance to read, listen to an audiobook, or just let my mind wander, all while being warm and comfy. And, funnily enough, it’s not really a sign of me getting older. Even as a kid, I generally didn’t mind going to bed as long as I wasn’t in the middle of doing something I was really engaged in.

Something which is a sign of me getting older is what my anxiety dreams have morphed into over the years. As a kid, anxiety dreams took the form of being chased by monsters, constantly staying just ahead of them through constant, exhausting effort. Real straight-to-the-point stuff. As far as primal anxieties go, ‘run or die’ is about as fundamental as it gets. But now, my anxieties take the more sedate form of my being lost, when I have somewhere I need to be. The gradually-rising stress of not being able to find the place I need to be is torture to my adult brain. The responsibilities of being an adult seem to have left their mark on me and I find myself longing for the simpler days of being chased by monsters.