Thursday, November 18, 2010

My Two Mattresses

The two most comfortable beds I've ever slept on in my entire life haven't been my own.  One of them was in the boutique hotel I stayed at in L.A. about six months back.  Kind of strange because you wouldn't think it would be that soft and inviting to sleep in by glancing at it.  Not to mention I've stayed in slightly swankier places, but all the decorative fluff of those top rated hotels couldn't hold a candle to whatever type of mattress this place uses.  It was really hard to motivate myself to get up each morning-to go work out or even walk next door to the coffee shop for some breakfast.  If it wasn't for all those school appointments, personal mini-adventures, and knowledge of how long it takes to navigate through big city traffic, I probably wouldn't have.

The second is a little more complicated than the first-it's the mattress that belongs to my ex.  I'm sure he still has it because sleeping on that bed gives you the same experience that lying on a big fluffy cloud might.  Soft like a big pile of Charmin toilet paper, yet supportive enough so you don't fall through.  The man knew his mattresses.  He co-owns a local chain of furniture stores so he'd have to.  After one night on that baby I knew why he complained about mine.     

So why am I blogging about sleeping on really comfortable mattresses on a site that's supposed to be about high sensitivity and other thought-provoking stuff?  Simple-sometimes even hsps get tired of being so serious all the time.  Especially if you've got a high sensation seeker streak within your veins.  I'm sure I'll find a way to write a meaningful line or two somewhere in this post, so if that's what you're looking for today keep reading.

The real reason that I'm blogging about these super comfortable mattresses of course is because tonight I thought of him.  I mean seriously thought of him.  The kind of thoughts that make you almost pick up the phone and dial one of those numbers that you didn't program into your new cell phone, but that are still burned in your memory.  You almost call because you miss the friendship that you thought would always be there, no matter what.  You almost call because despite going six months without talking, he's still the one person on this planet that knows you the best and that you used to be able to talk to about anything.  You end up not calling because you realize that you no longer want everything that came along with that friendship and that it would be too easy to fall right back into it.

Then your thoughts drift to your former home-the warm weather, the lush green landscapes that don't turn brown in the winter, the later sunsets since you're on the end of the time zone not the beginning of it, the oceans, the white sands, an actual nightlife, and so on.  For a moment you consider the possibility of going back.  Then you open your eyes back up and see what's in front of you.  A beautiful home that you own, not rent.  A home that you've loved since you were 31 and still do.  You remember the battles that you fought to get here.  You realize that you're living with the results of your former hard work and choices.  You realize that you're comfortable, content, and happy.  You know how much stress you would have to endure if you ended up leaving, realizing that a part of you would rather stay put.

It would be kind of like staying in the world of those two mattresses.  So comfortable, so cushioning, so protective.  But a mattress is only meant to help you rejuvenate the strength that you need to conquer your daily battles.  You can't spend your entire life lying on it.  If you did, you wouldn't really be a part of existence.

Destiny would remain a vision, self-discovery a forgotten dream, and life an isolated delusion.     


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