Bed. That's all I've got lately. I just want to be in bed. I love it there. I want to be curled up under the covers and nevereverever come out. My bed is soft. It is comfortable. It is peaceful. It is calming. It welcomes me. It's glad I'm there. It conforms to my needs. It doesn't complain about anything or try to argue at all. It wants me to be safe and warm and comfortable. It likes me.
I'm starting to believe that winter, which I've always loved and supported, is slowly killing me.
I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm eternally cold. I feel terrible. Regardless of how hard I try to change that. And I've been trying. But it's hard. And this week, I feel myself giving in to it. I don't want to. It just seems to be happening. I can't pinpoint any fully concrete reason. But it might just be winter.
There has been no sunshine. Everything is gray. I have been indoors almost exclusively. Fresh food is lacking. Movement is limited.
And my bed calls to me. Soft little whispers. All day long.
tell it to me tuesdays