I know right, doesn't she look wonderful? I realize it's no four poster, oak, with luxurious bedding, but she is mine.
And I love her. I love my bed. More than anything else in my house, I love my bed.
Now, some people may begin to question my sanity. Never fear, I am completely and totally in the clear about this.
A few years back, Splenda Daddy did some research, some trying things out, and came to the conclusion that a Tempurpedic bed would be the best for his troublesome sleep and painful neck. I thought it was comfy enough and really just wanted him to sleep better so whatev's as far as I was concerned.
It was heaven. Pure and simple heaven. And then some months ago, Splenda noticed he was having some trouble again and after some more research discovered that perhaps we needed to add an additional Tempurpedic topper. So he did.
I didn't think it could be any better, but was I ever surprised.
I want to be here all day. Not in the depressed, "I can't get out of bed" way (although there are those days - no lie), but more in the "this is so comfortable and such a safe place for me that I never like to leave"
Maybe that's it. It's a safe place.
I can nestle in under the covers. It conforms to my body and as I lay, I just sink right into it. I pull my pillows under my head and neck and burrow down. Its safety is all encompassing. As I wiggle in and get the perfect position, I literally hear and feel my body sigh with happiness and relaxation.
I can do just about anything from my bed. Watch TV, eat dinner, blog, read blogs, keep up on facebook and my pokes, talk on the phone, read, play games on my kindle, snuggle my dogs, talk and talk and talk with Splenda....... and sleep. I like sleeping.
I've started thinking about why I am so drawn to my bedroom and my bed. Why do I choose to spend so much time here? Why, unless I have actual agenda items, do I always find my way back to the comfort of my safe place? Most people would migrate to the couch or the family room. Even better, most people find projects to keep them busy and creative. Not me. I want my bedroom and my bed. Why?
And then it dawned on me.
Safe. It's completely and totally safe. It's mine. It has offered the most comfort to me over the past several years, so the compassion for me is pure. My bed has no ulterior motive. No agenda. No selfish purpose other than to offer me refuge. To envelope me in it's comfortable safety net. I can feel it exhale with happiness, at the same time that I sigh with peace the minute I crawl under the covers.
If it's a day that I just don't want to leave, my bed is okay with it. No harsh words, no self-recrimination, no judging, no pep talks about being productive, no concerned voices about being depressed and "you really just need to get out of bed". Instead, an understanding that some days, we just need our safe place, our comfort, our solitary time. And yet, on those days when I pop out, straighten the covers and walk away, I catch a glimpse of a smile from my pillows and a wave from my bedspread as it wishes me a good day and a promise of "see you later my friend". I can walk away knowing that she is there waiting for me when I need her or just plain want to crawl back in and feel safe.
And there it is. I have actually found some words to express this odd attraction to my bed and my bedroom.
She is safe.
She loves me.
She comforts me.
She is a refuge.
She is safe.
Gosh, I love my bed.
But now, I am getting out, straightening the covers and doing something without her for awhile. No fear, my friend, I'll be back and we both know we'll secure in our relationship.