How sad! Solitarily sitting here, checking for messages, with a solitary glass of wine in front of me, at half past eleven on a Sunday night. As the clock ticks relentlessly on, the chances of any incoming emails get smaller.
I suppose the only good thing is that it IS just a solitary glass of wine - no chance of me turning into a wino.
SuperSpouse has gone to bed terribly tired. A certain other person has gone to bed truculently tired. The other one was just plain tired, and went to sleep almost immediately.
Half of me wants to go to bed, and the other half can't even be bothered going there.