inside my flannel shell.

The bed means warmth to me, and I think of myself as a turtle, with only my head sticking out of my shell made of flannel. My predators are cold and light, and they make me squeeze myself into a little ball, pulling as far as I can into my shell while still allowing myself to be able to breathe.

I remember one time waking up in the middle of the night and being freezing cold. I only had a light sheet and I could barely control my shivering. I knew the solution; to get up and get another blanket. But I was too cold, and I pictured the floor around my bed as a sheet of ice. I must've laid there shivering for half an hour before I finally got up. Turns out I had the flu.

But the bed is warmth, and I hate getting up from it. I hate getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom (although the consequences of not getting up to use the bathroom far outweigh the advantages), and I always try to pull the covers over the bed so as to keep the heat in. I like to think it works.

The days I have to get up for something, I have my alarm set way before the actual time when I absolutely have to get up. I'll forego the shower, the breakfast, all for that extra eight minutes of warmth inside my flannel shell. And the days when I don't have to get up by any particular time? I'll wake up at some point, but stay in bed for a good while longer, just because it feels so good in there.

So I'm a turtle that stays in my shell not because the outside is scary, but just because it's so nice inside. I'm in my comfort zone, and I'm not ready to get out yet.

Just eight more minutes...