Just plop yourself right down. Get cozy and angled and comfortable. It’s your bed, after all. The haven of safety and warmth and relaxation. A good stretch and some propped up pillows. Doubled up quilts covering, protecting. It’s nice and dark in here – just the warm, yellowed glow of the gray desk lamp atop not a desk but a stereo. Snowflakes of dust glide in the beam, catalyzed by the slightest movement. Darkness cascades into every other corner.
Quiet in here. Late at night, nothing else really happening upstairs or outside. Maybe a nice book and some music on cassette. But probably the laptop.
Alternating between websites, and alternating between the computer and the cellphone. Playing the YouTube Related Videos game for almost an hour, running in the background while flipping through other sites in the fore. Email, wrestling news, music items, random knowledge. Beautiful pictures; pictures of the beautiful. Going in circles, enough time passing before it could be worth checking for an update somewhere. Same with social media on your phone. Never a dull moment. Hopefully. Just keep it going.
It’s like storytime before bed, listening to people discuss things in video form. Art, history, funny anecdotes. It’s a pleasure at low volume. And time passes.
Sometimes the real peace is during the real quiet times. The senses demand it: near total silence. Staring into nothing for a while. Something quiet in the back. Subtle. The gentle tapdance of rain with the window just a bit open. Or the indiscernible whisper of a voice on the radio, speaking low with the crisp distortion of talking over the phone on an AM frequency. It doesn’t matter what they say – the words aren’t as important as the texture.
Eventually the lights go out.
This is a routine I’m not wholly proud of. But it does feel good. That, if anything, is what beds are for.
© AndrewHallWrites, 2016