Recent studies show that people who make their beds sleep better at night. But on rebellious days, when I decide NOT to make my bed, I feel powerful, in charge, not to be controlled by the voices in my head. Until I feel guilty. And that happens pretty quickly.
In my small house, I can see the bedroom from almost every vantage point. The disheveled sheets, the shams on the floor, the bedspread lazily crumpled, all point their cottony and judgmental fingers at me. What? Are you really going to leave us like this?! You use us, then get dressed and walk away as if we meant nothing to you?
I last about an hour, or two.
The voices in my head remind me of world order. Morning comes before noon, life occurs before death, if you don’t eat you’ll get hungry, if you smile at people they will most likely smile back, a made bed shows that the owner is prepared for the day.
It’ll just take a second, I tell myself. I straighten the sheets and blankets, pull up the bedspread, make sure the edges are level on both sides, place and plump the pillows. All’s right again with the world.
Now, about the ironing hanging on the back of the laundry room door, out of sight, beckoning me with wrinkled collars and creased hems. Not a problem…until I have run out of no-press clothes.
But I sleep very well.