[Insert happy sigh here]

After one of those ridiculously busy and somewhat vexing days (by golly, the streetcar karma was seriously lacking today) I'm in the process of indulging in one of my favourite evenings.

I've been home (didn't get home until well after 8:30).
I've eaten.
Decided to take a hot bath (fragranced with H20's lovely and indulgent Lime Cassis bath gel).
I have on clean pajamas decorated with yellow bath duckies (printed, obviously, rather than pinning actual rubber ducks) on them, covered with thick white bathrobe and warm Oscar-The-Grouch-like slippers. I'm on the couch with a bottle of Perrier (I have my bourgeois moments, though they tend to be brief) and I'm reading.

And that's it. In about half an hour, I will head to bed feeling slightly sleepy and quite relaxed.

There is no noise, other than the computer fan or the quiet hum of the furnace.

Silence. Comfort. And for a few minutes, the knowledge that for a few minutes, everything is OK. It's rare, and it will be fleeting. And soon things that trouble (or people) will come and damage my calm.

But it is, as I said, my favourite kind of night.
Most people never suspect it of me.