My wife is away for a few days so I’m sleeping alone.
I woke up on Thursday morning after a fairly short but deep and intense sleep. I assumed this because the other half of the bed where my wife usually lies was still perfectly made up with only my side showing the regular albeit less than normal evidence of my having been there. I had clearly fallen asleep and never moved much at all until I awoke.
On the way to school on this same morning my son had an accident on his scooter. He collided with the car in front of him in the heavy traffic. The scooter took a real beating as did my son and I am grateful that he only collided with one car. He’s ok thankfully, getting away with only minor scratches and bruises. If the scooter could speak I’m sure the story would be an interesting one. But it could have been much worse. I could have lost him – in fact, I could have collided with his absence every day for the rest of my life. To get a phone call at 7am in the morning can sometimes really mess with your equilibrium. It was a turbulent day of emotionally mixed metaphors.
On Friday and Saturday morning I woke up with the duvet almost completely off the bed and heaped in a mangled mess. It looked like someone had had a full-on battle on the bed during the night. My wife cannot be blamed this time – she only gets home tomorrow and I was alone both nights. Even my 13 year old daughter who usually relishes the privilege of plundering my personal space when her mom is away slept in her own room.
So who was I sleeping with whilst I was alone? And the battle? What was I saying? What was happening, and who was it happening with?
The mysteries of duvet politics.
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perhaps yourself?
perhaps vulnerability?