Uncomfortable

Oh what I wouldn't give to be comfortable. About a month ago my entire world was turned upside down. In my haste to leave my husband and my situation, I forgot that I was also leaving my sense of normalcy and comfort; my seven-hundred, fifty thread count sheets, my queen sized bed, and my lofty, comfy pillows. Six of them to be exact, ranging in size from standard to euro. I think back on how I would stack them all according to size and prop myself up on them. I felt like I was in a cloud, floating on a sea of dreams. Oh how I long to be comfortable. I miss the joys of lulling in bed on Saturday mornings, peacefully drifting in and out of sleep, without a care in the world; that warm, enveloping feeling created by my own body heat that hugs me, and assures me that in this moment, while I lie in bed, all is right with the world. And even if it isn't, it can wait until later.

As I wake this morning on my parent's couch I am reminded of how utterly uncomfortable my life has become. The scratchy, harsh reality of my world hits me before my eyes even open. I am blanketed under a patchwork quilt of hard truths, pain, and resentment. It's kind of difficult to forget, or even pretend to forget how much life can be a pain in the neck when a pain in the neck sharply greets me good morning daily. I haven't slept in a bed in at least two weeks. Oh what I wouldn't give to be able to curl up in my sheets, hug a pillow, roll over and go back to sleep on this early, rainy, cold, Saturday morning. A bad marriage can interrupt your life in ways you never dreamed possible. Worst of all I know that right now as I am up lamenting about how uncomfortable I am, my estranged husband is still sleeping; no doubt curled up in those seven-hundred, fifty thread count sheets, comfortably hugging a pillow.

Sincere Lee