Pushing Thirty

     I started making my bed for the first time in, uh, 28 years a few weeks back. My Mom and I took a trip to IKEA (more to follow on how many different ways I love that place) and something about getting a fresh comforter cover and new sheets on my queen sized bed made me want to make it pretty in the morning. My bed has historically been used as a laundry hamper, school work station, couch, storage space, most anything but a bed. I’m a clothes in the corner kinda gal. Domesticity has eluded me until recently, finally having an apartment I love to spend time in. Don’t get me wrong, if no one’s been over in a while it reverts back to a cluttered expression of my twelve thoughts at a time mind, but I like keeping my bathroom clean, I like seeing my dishes done, and dusting even, getting that thin coating of city grime off of the coffee table, feels good. I wipe down the TV screen now to keep the picture clear, and the laundry pile in the corner has not assumed a life of it’s own recently, so I think I’m catching on. And it does feel good. Mostly.

     For the last weeks I have been having a racing heart moment every single time I walk in the door. You can see my bedroom from the entryway, and inevitably, as I walk in, the colors of the comforter spread out neatly on my bed catches my eye, and I freeze in my tracks and look up and even though I know of no home invasions with the intent of making beds think, suddenly feeling fight or flighty, “Dude, who’s been in my apartment?” This is disconcerting to say the least. You would think that making a change that positive and that nice would be something I would remember. I would think it would be something that might actually cross my mind in the course of my day, something along the lines of “I can’t wait to climb in my nice made bed tonight” running through my head. But no. I instead have to remind myself that I’ve been making my bed every morning every time I get home.

     This will pass. It always does. I’ll get used to it and some day pretty soon when I run out the door without making it I’ll come home, see it unmade and inevitably wonder who’s been in it while I was out. The plus side is that I’m surprised by a lot of good things constantly. Going into my closet is an adventure of the best sort as every item is that item that you forgot you had but is one of your favorites. Daily routines like a commute never get routine, mostly because I can’t remember I have daily routines until I‘m half way into them, but also because there’s always something that I didn’t know I had forgotten about along the way. It can get in the way of a lot of regular every day things too, it’s very hard to remember to check your schedule book when you don’t happen to lay eyes on it and therefore don’t remember you have a schedule book in the first place. But the other side of it is that there is almost always something to bring that youthful wonder back into my life. And that, I think, is worth it. Now I just have to remember to roll out the new blue carpet that matches the comforter and really freak myself out for the next few weeks.