It's never a good idea for me to read when I'm really tired because when I continue where I left off nothing makes sense. Then I have to go back whole paragraphs or even pages to jog my memory. Then I swear to myself to never do this again. I say to myself, "Self, next time we are tired and droopy lidded, put the book down." But that never lasts because I inevitably force myself to read past that point because I so want to know what happens next. Do you see the problem?
One time I was convinced the husband was playing a prank on me and had moved my bookmark. I even questioned him in that trying-not-to-sound-accusing, but still curious way. "Did you touch my book?"
Of course he looked at me with that puzzled, you-must-be-insane look. I'd like to think that's more because he knows better than to mess with my books and not because he really thinks I'm a crazed, book-reading psycho.
This whole scenario especially sucks when I'm reading a long tome like Stephen King's "11/22/63" where time travel is involved. Okay, that did happen. And I had to re-trace my reading because I had no idea where the main character was and how he got there. It's a credit to the authors because their books are so hard to put down.
Maybe for future late-night reading I should ingest more caffeine. Or read someplace less comfortable than my bed. Like the rack used in the Addams Family basement. And then I could pull the butler bell and summon Lurch and after he said, "You rang." I would ask him to bring me a pillow and blanket. Which defeats the whole purpose but I've always wanted to summon my own Lurch-like butler.