Something I spend a whole nightshift looking forward to, but when I finally get home...very elusive.
I suppose it's not so bad when no one really cares when you crawl out of bed again, but nowadays, certain people rather do :)
I guess part of the difference is that after a nightshift, there's not much wind-down. I don't get home, spend time cooking, telly, with John and the boys, then finally drag myself off to bed. I tend to get in and try and get my head down, to be up in time to do fun things later in the day.
Today I got in, knackered, because I hadn't got much extra yesterday, and Sherlock launched himself at me (John sort of did, far, far more slowly ;) ). Had a shower, closed the curtains, buried myself in the bed.
Got up again about 45 mins later, went to the loo, got jumped on again because Sherlock hoped I was up. John removed him from my person. Went back to bed.
Rolled about. Piled fnug on, kicked it off, cursed traffic, general noise. John sneaked in to get a different shirt, suitable for allotmenteering. Managed to grab him for a sneaky kiss. Then the flat was silent, but the city decidedly not.
Dragged myself up in time for climbing. John and I did a bit, Sherlock and Mycroft did lots, and were both very good.
I liked it when there was a crack you could wedge your hands into, but not so much the sheer wall with the rubber lugs. And I quite liked the practice bit you could climb along, just getting a feel for it.
Now, of course, I'm not tired...
(and I know some of you wonder, so the victim from last night survived surgery, and is now recovering, which is good.)