Can I tell you about my bed?
I'll tell you anyways.
It's just so special to me.
What a wonderful place.
The one I never want to leave.
You see being awake is far too hard.
You have to do things.
You have to make decisions.
Being awake is like trying to convince a caterpillar
that it's completely legal to play tennis with a skillet.
It doesn't ever make sense.
I can't think of a better place than my bed.
Oh! I was going to tell you about that.
Imagine a mattress that's twelve years old.
EXCEPT it's worn in all the right places.
I fit just perfect.
Completely swallowed by the plush cube.
You see we bought an extra firm,
but my constant wiggling has boken it in so well.
I sink practically to the floor.
I sleep with my comforter.
There, I said it.
What if I told you I use a lavender detergent on it?
See, it's magical.
I surround myself with pilows.
Six of them.
I once read that the more pillows a person sleeps with
the more lonely that person is.
I'll leave that debate up to the awake
version of me.
She's so smart, I love her.
I wish she loved her.
The best part of my bed I've failed to mention so far.
I must save the best for last,
but I will tell you now
lest you die of suspense.
It's the pain it takes from me.
It doesn't think I should carry my pain with me
into my dreams.
So it does me the generosity of taking them from me.
The aches and tension I drudge through the day with.
The mental pain I store inside my mind until it bursts.
The emotional pain of deep sorrows and confusion.
All gone by daybreak.
It's just a bed you see.
A wonderful blessing unto my body.
Please don't make me leave.