Dec 13 2002
Love/hate: Blankets
Love/hate for Friday, December 13, 2002
Blankets
I love them. And lots of them. The ideal sleeping conditions for me are a cool room, window open to let in the breeze (though this also lets in the noises caused by those other people who insist on living in close proximity to me, and other auditory undesirables, such as sirens and the roar of traffic, not to mention olfactory undesirables, such as cigars and barbecues), two feather pillows, and lots of blankets.
Even though we live where the temperature range is only about 40 degrees at the most, and we don’t get the extreme cold that curses much of this great country in the depths of winter, I love having lots of blankets on the bed. It makes me feel all snuggly and warm. Freudians will tell you that it’s wanting to be back in the womb, but given my ambivalent feelings toward my manic-depressive, passive-aggressive mother, that seems unlikely to me (as do most of Freud’s theories, to tell you the truth). But I do find it comforting to have a certain weight of blankets on me in the dark night. And of course, a cat or two is essential.
There is generally one or two of our four cats sleeping with us, though since they are cats, it’s unpredictable as to who it will be and when. Cats are as capricious as I am, and it’s impossible to distinguish and kind of pattern in their sleeping arrangements. They just honor us with their presence when they feel like it. Nothing helps you get back to sleep faster than a purring cat cuddled up to you. And you can count on them to hunt down those demons and monsters that lurk in the fearful dark as efficiently as they dispatch any stray bugs that venture into their home territory.