Strange Bedfellows

I have always had a small bed. It wasn't until college that I even realised that I was completely unaware of how comfortable a bed could be. When suddenly everyone sees your bed and your comforter, then it starts to be important how it looks. When your bed also doubles as your couch, its comfort suddenly becomes important as well. My early years at university found me collapsing into drowsy sleep on top of books, (clean) laundry, homework, and other random pieces of life that wandered onto my bed during the day.

Senior year, I had my nest. A heap of down blankets and pillows that you could ooze into. I still had the odd book or two in there, but mostly it was soft down. Blissful. Still, it was tiny and I felt comfortable in my small space.

At home and school for the past 20-odd years, I have had a teeny bed with lots of such crap on it. When I got to New Zealand and my partially furnished flat, I found a huge bed. A queen size. At first, I still slept all in one corner, getting used to this ocean of sheets and blankets. Now, I lounge, basking in the room. However, there is still way too much room for one wee girl. I woke up this morning to realise how much I use my bed as a hobby table. I woke up to find that I had been sleeping with knitting needles (two different sizes) a ball of wool, scissors, two books, my remote for my TV, and my glasses. The foot of my bed held my workout clothes prepared for the morning. It occurred to me that this just might be unusual.

I could outline the reasoning behind each of these objects in my bed, but I won't. The simple explanation might be that I like to be almost suffocated by my own things. Yes, that's cryptic and all-encompassing. Perfect.