Friday, November 20, 2009


This morning my sheets smelled like evil. About the time I went to bed, My boyfriend went to get a rubdown from our local massage therapist. (Like, super local. Next door. It's odd how many times we've ended up living with or near massage therapists. Has there been a migration in the past few years?) He came back home, pleasantly sore and blissfully ignorant of the danger that clung to his skin. He took a quick (and admittedly careless) shower and got into bed, just barely rousing me from my deep sleep. I was just awake enough to mumble-boss him to get his own blanket as I could still smell the massage lotion on him. I covered my face with my own blanket and fell back into sleep, temporarily shielded from the scent of liniment and lavender. I woke with my face buried in my pillow and as soon as I moved, I smelled it.

It made me gag, though a part of me could recognize that it was faint. It was making me feel sick, angry, and very sensitive. Lights got brighter, noises were sharper, I felt hot and stifled, but my feet were freezing. It was the standard buildup for me. My boyfriend is really getting used to my patterns because when I flipped out at him for something silly, he asked me what the real problem was. "Well let me give you some context!" I spat, all righteous with my bad self. And after a minute of nagging and rambling on about missing forks, soap not being on the wire rack where it goes, and other petty things of this nature, I finally got to it, "...and the bed SMELLS!" His face instantly went from annoyed to sympathetic and I started to cry, relieved that I had finally gotten to the point and that he understood. He immediately helped me form a plan of action for cleaning all of the bedding without having a working washing machine. (It broke a few days ago. It's a problem.) He reassured me that if it all went terribly wrong, if my head exploded and all of my spoons fell out, he would carry it all to the laundromat himself if he had to, through the snow, uphill, both ways. Then he hugged me until I let go. He's a really great guy.

There really is no moral to the story. It's just another anecdote about how easily my day can go wrong, and how lucky I am to have someone to help me bring it back around to right. The last comforter is in the dryer now. I'm tired. But I'll sleep in a clean, unscented bed tonight and maybe tomorrow will be better.