The urge is particularly strong in the rainy season, when you're bundled up warmly and you hear the pouring outside and a tiny part of you feels smug and compassionate at the same time for the poor schmucks that had to be outside, and you only get up for bathroom breaks or a cup of hot cocoa or milk tea, and you pop your favorite show in the DVD player or you watch the local news and imagine yourself disconnected from the insane world.
Sigh.
That's for the good times.
For the particularly crappy days, I take a page from the drama queen's handbook and curl up in a ball, wishing I could be invisible.
I sleep, wake up, consider with dreadful certainty that I do not have a future, sleep again, wish for good dreams or escape from recurring nightmares. When I've sufficiently indulged my penchant for histrionics, I drag myself up and proceed to wash away the drama with a long, cold bath.
Catch you later. My bed is too seductive to resist.
Image courtesy of Sergey Ignatenko
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