I have 15 minutes before my self-designated bedtime. In this 15 minute-interval, I have to finish writing in the bloggy, brush my teeth, decide what to wear to the company xmas party tomorrow, pee, take off makeup, paint nails and tuck myself in.
So, let’s take it from the top. Today, I would like to talk to you about my bed. I’ve wanted to talk about it since lunch.
I was walking through town today at noon when my thoughts drifted to it. It was a cold day, and the sunlight that poured in through the narrow streets perpendicular to the water brought a little comfort. So I started walking toward the sun, squinting my eyes. And there, in the dimness, I thought about my bed, the hearth of comfort.
I simply love my bed. It’s not even mine; my own bed is leaving against the back wall of the hall closet, broken up in metal pieces. But this bed came with the room. It’s soft and complete — mattress, base, box spring and all, and wheels too. It’s a queen-sized one, and when I’m lying on it under the folds of my royal blue comforter, I truly feel like a queen.
When I open my eyes in the morning, the first thing I see is the sky. If it’s clear-blue, I believe that it’ll be a good day. If it’s gray or white, I remember to take my coat. If the leaves are orange, against the blue they look like a painting.
You see, my day starts before I pull the covers aside and place my feet on the cold tiles. Before the thought of breakfast enters my head, I’m already lying in the center of the world, observing my environment and forming conclusions. And in the quiet of the morning, those few moments in bed are essential. It’s the time when I measure up the world in my eye, and motionless, gather the strength to take it.