An Unmade Bed
I’ve been feeling quite a bit like an unmade bed lately. Not the artfully, tastefully unmade beds with beautifully creased linen sheets that have popped up on my feeds. More like the true-to-life kind you see on Ikea catalogs. I’m not going to include the kind you see when you open the door to your son’s room. Make that my son’s room. The last thing I want is to offend anyone else’s son. Unmade beds can be just as inviting as made beds for sure but I’m one of those people whose heart aches at the thought of leaving a bed unmade. Must be the Virgo in me. It’s one of those things that when left undone, leaves me with a feeling that I’d forgotten something. Maybe a made bed, to me, is something of a take-off point. When it’s done, I can get on with the rest of the day. So feeling like an unmade bed is exactly that. I have so many ideas in my head about what I will do when the next day rolls in (think starting a new canvas, sewing an outfit for my Smart Doll, Starlight, continuing the
