Although it’s such a simple thing, it caught me by surprise. “Why make the bed?” I thought to myself about, say, 40 years ago. After all, I was just to get back into it and mess it up again. Yet for the past 25 years, I have made the bed right before sleep each night because my regular sleep-thrashing.
I starting making the bed first thing about 20 days ago, and my head is clearer. When I walk into my bedroom, even if other parts of the room are chaotic, there’s a kind of order and beauty at the room’s center now. It’s also a way to honor the place I go each night to dream myself or be dreamed to parallel cities, long excursions, or the difficulty (as in last night) of packing a bunch of hideous antiques that belonged to my grandmother for travel when the airlines charge so much for each suitcase. No matter, the bed is made. The day is ready. And as I smooth the sheet and blanket across the mattress, I’m hearing and clearing myself at once.