Thursday, September 1, 2011
Hopefully the police don't read this, because I think I'm technically that blanket's employer
Note: This was originally posted as a facebook note a few months ago when I was still living in the dorms at Oregon State University.
So after spending three hours in my bed tonight watching a marathon of American Pickers (it still counts as a marathon if it is just me repeatedly playing them on Netflix, right?) I realized that I had reduced my bed to what could roughly be viewed as a singular mass of swirled up blankets roughly perched on a mattress that was desperately trying to cling to its fitted sheet (and failing). After wondering if it should worry me that I apparently writhe violently while watching TV, I realized I would need to make my bed if I wanted to sleep in it tonight.
But first I moved my computer out of the depths of the blanket-whirlpool on my bed to my desk and read blogs for a while. A long while. Finally, I realized that three things needed to happen: I needed to shower, I needed to make my bed, and I REALLY needed to pee. The last one pretty much overruled the other two, and being a genius I realized that showering also takes place in the bathroom (my deduction powers are amazing.) Now, I know myself pretty well. And I knew that the last thing I would want to do after showering was anything that felt like chores. Making the bed=chores. However, it is also absurd, unthinkable even, for me to make TWO separate trips to the bathroom. Because lazy always beats intelligent.
After showering I was determined to prove my earlier self wrong. I would make the hell out of that bed and not simply resort to tunneling under the heap of blankets and curling up like some desperate animal (because it is much harder for them to make beds properly, lacking thumbs and all that.) However, after pulling all the covers off my bed and onto the floor, I spent longer than was acceptable debating whether or not I could just sleep on the bare mattress or the (very cozy looking) blanket-floor-nest.
But I am nothing if not tenacious! So I began to make my bed. When I got to the blanket my parents had brought back from Mexico, it had somehow built up enough static electricity to shock me THREE TIMES. Oh, I get it Mr. Blanket, you are judging me for not doing this earlier when I would not have been disturbing my roommates who are waiting (oh so patiently) for me to finish my extremely long process of bed-making so they can sleep and escape my craziness for a moment by slipping into blissful unconsciousness.
WELL YOU CAN'T JUDGE ME, MEXICAN BLANKET, YOU ARE AN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT! WHERE IS YOUR GREENCARD, HUH?
And that is how I discovered that I am racist against linens while making my bed. Thank you and goodnight.