Could it be that my boyfriend’s refusal to go to bed at a sensible time is a vital act of self-destruction that keeps him going?
No woman wants to feel like their partner’s mother, but sometimes there is no escape. I feel it most at night. “Go to bed!” I say, pointing towards the bedroom. “It’s 1am and you have school, sorry, work in the morning.” But my bloodshot-eyed boyfriend-man does not move from the sofa, muttering something about “just another five minutes” of Lewis Hamilton highlights on YouTube, which I know will actually be 20.
“I don’t want to nag,” I’ll say another time, lying in bed with my sleeping mask flipped, squinting. “But this is madness. If you’re going to work 12-hour days, you need your rest. I’ve seen how battered you get.”
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