World Gone Wrong

Here we are, not yet even at the dead of winter, and today I saw a bird on the phone line that resembled a sparrow or something and that had a red head and breast. I guess it was a blue jay, maybe one with a bad sense of color.

That bird, and his or her kin, should be vacationing in the Bahamas or down in Mexico or some place, not up here where it's still likely to get all frosty at night. I've learned to conquer it by unpacking my down comforter, but even that raises issues.

Mostly chore and maintenance issues, since I don't want Minardi playing with it. I have a deep-seated fear of waking up inside a mound of feathers, or of finding my room nicely covered with a wintry white, fluffy covering. Since he's decided the sharp, pointy ends of pillows are a hazard and considers it his duty to be considerate enough to remove them, I have no illusions that he'd treat my comforter any less kindly.

My winter regimine now includes stripping the bed bare first thing in the morning, down to the mattress pad. Then I toss on a covering that he can tear up as much as he likes, but before claiming my bed at night I have to make the whole damn thing.

It's a small price to pay for being able to luxuriate in cool, crisp sheets and to feel the temp under the comforter raise as it traps and holds my body heat. Nothing like being in a warm coccoon inside a cool room. I love crawling into cold sheets, just not spending the nights in them. I get a fine sense of accomplishment when I feel them warm up, and so far at least, I've yet to wake up with feathers in my nose.