What about the bed becomes such a space of catastrophe, then peace, then catastrophe again? How is it that only inside an actual beating heart might a person find real peace?

In this space the bed is not so easily separated from the space of the room from the space of my heart from the space of the morning from the space of the sunlight sifting through the lacy white fabric covering the window.

– from “Mornings in Bed,” The Sky Isn’t Blue (Civil Coping Mechanisms)

The bed for me is a strange space. Mornings are the hardest, aren’t they? It’s impossible to wake up. It’s necessary to face the day. Before I got my desk set up, my bed was where I slept and took naps, but also worked, wrote, answered emails. Currently, the mooshes own the bed more than I do, but beds are for sharing.

Also, maybe I will mention the blanket with the bears. My mom bought it for me a long time ago at the Ralph Lauren outlet store. The bears are all wearing really dapper outfits.