i was totally comfortable, perfectly so, just the moment i hit the bed. just exactly right for a short afternoon snooze. right square in the middle of my too-big bed. all to myself. no one to bother me. sweet peace and quiet.
the only problem was that the bed was still made. underneath me. and a couple of minutes later, when the air conditioning kicked on, well, it wasn't quite perfect anymore. but if i moved--if i turned over to wriggle under the covers--i'd no longer be so perfectly comfortable, so just exactly right. (you know what i mean?)
what i needed was that blanket. that soft, snuggly, white fuzzy-bunny-tail blanket. across the room on the chaise. the perfect chaise with the perfect blanket holding the place where eliza's crib once was. it's really such a great blanket. (and if you know me, you know my penchant for soft things: yes, insert comparisons to lenny, if you must. you won't be the first.)
all alone in my sweet peace and quiet. sweet.
the thing is, it's the kind of blanket you need someone to put on for you. it's a person-sized blanket, you know? just exactly the right size, but no bigger. the kind that, when you're lying on your stomach, you can't possibly pull over yourself without accidentally leaving a toe hanging out or failing to cover a leg or not quite reaching all the way up to your neck or dislocating your shoulder. so even if it weren't across the room on the chaise (shoot!), i couldn't get under it without ruining the perfect snoozing position.
no one around. so much for sweet peace and quiet and the perfect snoozing setup.
and as i lay there thinking about how useful it would be to have someone else around right now--someone like sam or luke, for example, the very people i'd been so glad to have not ruining my coveted peace and quiet--i was reminded that alone is not it. see, i've been thinking it's all the people around me who are the problem: they are the reason i need to keep up appearances; they make me dread getting up in the morning; they make me crave peace and quiet; they make the days interminable; they are the reason it's not how it should be; they can't make it better; they couldn't possibly understand.
but the thing is, without sam and luke there, i couldn't have my fuzzy-bunny-tail blanket. no softness. no snuggle. not so much the perfect peace and quiet after all.
(you know it's not just about the blanket, right? it really never is.)
alone is not it. when i forget that again tomorrow, when i attempt to hole up and shut out yet another day, someone please remind me. alone is not perfect either.