This morning I woke up slowly. I felt the weight of my comforter and snuggled into the envelope of warmth my body had created under my sheets. I love my bed. Honestly, I do. It’s a pure, deep and steadfast love that is speckled with moments of pure lust. I love the bed itself, a four poster canopy plantation bed. I love the color of my room, a soothing cool sage that relaxes me. High thread count sheets reassure me and embrace me. Perfect pillows cradle me. I love that my bed brings me such deep pleasure and my room is such a sanctuary for me. I feel so safe and comforted there. I am grateful for its pure perfection.

As sleep drifted away, my mind was caught between being half a wake, but completely quiet. I thought about things that I normally wouldn’t have time to do in the hectic-ness of daytime. I daydreamed. My eyes were closed to reality but I was engrossed seeing “the movies in my head”, as my kids call it. I drifted in and out of fantasies, memories, and thoughts. I think I would fall back asleep for a few minutes then I would be awake again. I was enjoying the control of those half-asleep dreams.

I was vaguely aware that I could hear my fan blowing. Not because I need the temperature shift but because I like the soothing sound the air makes when it’s going through this machine on high. And I like that it drowns out real life sounds that hurdle me towards the day starting at the too early hour of 6:30am when my son wakes with the sun. I could smell the coffee brewing downstairs. That perfect cup called me out of my 40 minute reverie.

Time to start the day.

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