I know, it wasn’t too long ago I was raving about how much I love my bed.  And I do love my bed.  It’s my own private island.  But now, I’m sensing a more sinister presence, a monster of sorts, in my bed.  When I need to get up, and I’m wide awake and I sorta want to get up, I feel these arms go around me, pulling me back down to the feather bed.  “Oh, five more minutes won’t hurt,” it would whisper to me and I’d close my eyes.  The cycle repeats itself until I’m more exhausted from sleeping and just surrender myself to the monsters arms.  The next thing I know I’ve slept the morning and half the day away and am so torpid and sluggish I feel as though I should just stay there until tomorrow.  I think I talked about tomorrow too.

Yes, I know how demented it sounds to say there is a monster in my bed.  Delusional and paranoid is the clinical terms, I believe.  No, there really isn’t a monster in my bed.  I just can’t deal with the idea that I am the monster, I’m the one who surrenders to the depression or anxiety, (I don’t know which one keeps me abed).  I guess I’m the monster…….

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