I will remember nights like this.

Nights when the hum of the box fan in the corner cuts through the stuffy living room. Tim lying on his belly on the beige carpet, studying (what else?). The soft “clack” of the sliding door blinds coming together from the breeze outside.

I will remember nights like this because they are unmemorable. Unremarkable. Bland, if you will.

These nights consist of sprawling out on the denim couch that is slowly sinking into itself. My bare feet rest on a pillow set on the coffee table. A can of soda water is in my hand, along with a Roku remote as I scroll through Netflix on the TV.

It is not a marathon: my eyelids droop around 10 p.m. I pounce at the suggestion of sleep, sometimes (often times) so eagerly that I forget to floss.

But these nights in – with their sheer predictability – meld together in my mind, creating one long scene with the same characters and lines. This makes it difficult to mark the passing of time.

Hoursdaysweeksmonths slip away.

I will try to memorialize these nights, with their soft lamp glow and the cold metal bar to rest my feet on under the oak desk. I will hide the remote and light a candle and open Microsoft Word.

Then, maybe –

I will have stories to commemorate these nights.