The soothing beauty of a made bed.

I never make my bed. I find the rumple of covers/clothes/towels that generally resides atop my mattress pleasant to burrow under and thrash around in when the time for sleep comes. This is a long-time habit, and unlikely to change soon.

However, since May has snuck up and blind-sided me, and i find myself with 58% or so of my stuff in boxes, or staged, ready to box in my living room, no lease signed and 4 days or so to find somewhere to (a) sleep and bathe and (b) put my stuff i find i can fully appreciate the island of crisp, calm serenity and declaration of control that is a neatly made bed.

Similar to my long-time refusal to make my bed i have had a habit of believing that i have accomplished the things i think about for too long. Having now thought about where i want to live next for entirely too long, i guess i figured i had already sorted it out, and am scrambling. In an odd way it is kind of fun. If push comes to shove i have a friend i can crash with for two weeks or so, and a line on a room (think B&B) i can finagle for two more. I know i can rent a pickup for $20 a day, so i can start ferrying my meager possessions to either a storage facility or a new apartment.

There are two viable options, one available immediately (the responsible choice, but lacking something) and one slightly later (quirky, but not everything i am looking for). So, i squirm on the horns of dilemma: settle and take the 'right now' place, or hold out for something better.

Whatever happens i am enjoying the scramble as it takes me a bit out of myself, a thing sorely needed.

I hope all readers of this periodic blog are well, happy, and know where they are gonna put their stuff.