I’ve been living in my bed for the best part of last week. Not the honeymoon kind of bed life, I have to disappoint you (and myself). I’ve mostly been coming home under layers of blankets sweating off my fever in the lovely company of a plate of chopped up onion and a book that makes my days of 15 hours of sleep feel normal.
In between the long nights that feel way too short, waking up under the weight of big bags that used to belong under my eyes. Now they have taken over me and my world so much all I can see is heavy grey skies and streets covered in snow. I slide my way to work and wonder if my mood will survive this Belgian winter.
After five years of nothing but summer and one severe Canadian winter you would think I could get used to the Belgian rainy snowy slush of a season, but no. The cold doesn’t get me, and I can stand the rain. It’s more about the feeling of never wanting to leave my warm little home, or even my bed, or even my house coat. So when life caught up on me and knocked me down with the flu, I was happy to do what I’ve been dreaming of doing for months now: hibernate.
I created a blanket fort and called it home. This is where I would eat and sleep for days on end. My only connection with the world was by peeking at the street light outside of my window. It’s on, so night has fallen and I can feel good about sleeping. It’s off, so I should wake up and put on pants and face the day. But that’s not how bed life works. Clothes don’t exist in this world. Activity is not tolerated. So I chopped another onion to kill germs and make my room smell mighty fine, read my book and fell in and out of sleep for another week.
Long live winter!