Comfort Delusions

There’s this thing I do that always makes me hate myself a little bit when I catch myself doing it. Which is, sadly, quite often. But that’s just what happens seeing as I’m a stubborn old goat and stick to bad habits as vigorously as those sticky slimy slap-hands from our early childhoods to…well…anything.

Icky sticky (from amazon.com)

So – Do you ever have those moments where you’ve just climbed into bed, swaddling yourself into the comfort of the blanket. That moment after you found the perfect balance between leg-out-of-blanket and heat-under-blanket? That moment where, inexplicably, a sudden urge to empty your bladder strikes. Even though you just went, even though you barely drank anything for the past three hours. Even though you didn’t have to go the second before your head hit the pillow just right?

They suck.

Those moments suck. Donkeyballs.

I have the same hatred for cuddling my blanket and then noticing the duvet is trying to escape down the bottom, leaving you with an empty cotton flap at the top that just is a blatant disgrace in terms of fluffy blanketness. I can caress that blanket with all the passion in the world, but as long as that empty flap is there, I ain’t going to get my comfort on until I fix the entire bedding. Which. I. hate. doing.

This also. Sucks. SO MUCH.

But outside of the fact that the mere existence of these moments is an affront to my happiness in and of itself – what follows is even worse. Because sometimes…I’ll bear the discomfort out of sheer unwillingness to do something about it. Some days I’ll take my ‘I’m superdupercomfortablebutkindahavetopee‘ 80% bed-love-state and refuse to move. Some days I’ll force myself to fall asleep with a ninja-fold on the empty flap, hoping the rest of the duvet stays sort of in place. Some nights I fall asleep uncomfortably out of some misguided notion that ruining my semi-comfortable state is worse than putting in the work to make it fully-comfortable.

It’s the settling we (or well, at least I) often do in relationships as well. I should know. If eight years of living with my best friend in the world taught me anything outside of the fact that ‘just friends’ isn’t enough – it’s that it’s pretty much idiotic to NOT do the work to go for perfection. It is.

I get that there’s safety in the current. I get that there’s charm in being happy with what you have. I get that there’s a 1000 and 1 excuses to make for taking ‘ok’ instead of hoping for ‘awesome’.

But when I think about it….
When I really honestly think about it?

There is NO excuse for settling into mediocrity because you’re fine where you are, even though ‘epic‘ might just be a mere few changes away. Right there for the taking.

Yet here I find myself in bed, being grumpy at my bladder control, instead of just picking my lazy ass up and fixing it. Here I am spending nights sleeping with the blanket in a state that I hate, just because I don’t wanna get up and fluff it. And here I am settling in relationships with guys who could be perfect if I’d only set and uphold my boundaries. Or sticking with men who couldn’t be perfect even if they’d want to. Or looking for guys to be the next mistake in fear of waiting things out for the jackpot.

I’m an idiot. Someone should slap some sense into me. Not with one of those nasty sticky hand things tho…