Friday, April 2, 2010

Under the cover of night

I always wonder how strange I really am in comparison to other people. I'm probably not nearly as odd as I feel, but the philosophical question of how to judge that remains in my mind.

Take for instance the way I feel about sleeping. I have never really felt comfortable in bed without a blanket or something over the top of me. Room temperature is irrelevant.

For instance, when I was in Mexico, it would be so hot at night. My companion and I would both have fans running all night long in an effort to quell the oppressive weight of the liquid air. The feeble waves crashing against the seashore of one's person was most often futile. 

Despite this, I needed something against my legs. Usually it was only a top sheet and a thin woolen comforter. The sheet pulled up to my chin, the comforter folded like a newspaper draped over my weary feet. 

Invariably I would awake in the morning to find everything in a state of utter disarray, yet to lay in bed without those implements, was to sit statue still without even a hint of slumber. No effort to close the cameras to the world would suffice. Slide a thin cotton coverlet up, and the shuttered windows would invite the sandman to deliver his dusty load.

Why post all this? I'm not sure entirely, no doubt the thought has been haunting my subconscious since my post about the ABCs. The other half of the phantasm being I've only known one other individual to communicate a similar need. So is it unusual? Are there others with this same malady or affectation? I haven't a clue, but at least I can go lay down and pull the blanket up to my chin for tonight's respite.

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