Monday, May 16, 2011
In case you've never given it much thought, and really why would you, it takes a lot to learn to sleep like a Diva. Unless, of course, it's in your genes.
From as far back as most can remember the family line was derived from hard working, Texan farm people. Somehow that Texas country gene mutated. From that mutation came my grandmother Roxie. The above picture is of her on her high school graduation day. It was about 1939.
Oh yes, the Diva-ness continued. This is her in the early 70's. In 1977, the year lung cancer took her from us at age 56, she bought a new, fresh off the showroom floor, Lipstick Red Lincoln Continental with white leather interior and white landau top. I know, I know, but it WAS the 70's.
Ms. Roxie, known to the grandkids as Denia (long story), was all about luxury and that also included her bed time life. Denia had a thing for long, flowing, flashy nightgowns with feathers, sequins and shit and satin sheets. I can't for the life of me figure out how in the hell she was able to actually stay in the bed with all that satin.
Well times have changed. I'm all about 1200 count Egyptian cotton, ironed sheets, a silk chemise, if anything at all, and three synthetic, yes synthetic, goose down pillows. I'm not having those damned little white feathers flying all around in the middle of the night. Especially if they might happen to come in contact with my nose.
I only use flat sheets on the bed. Those "fitted" sheets, well, they're satanic in my mind. They NEVER stay put and are a constant pain in the ass. I'm not one to want to referee a fight between a huge pillow top mattress and a damned fitted sheet. Forget 'em, I don't need the pressure, or another valium.
So here's the order: flat sheet on the bottom, another flat sheet on top of that one, then a light blanket covered by a third flat sheet. I know it sounds a little crazy, HELLO, bipolar, crazy, point made. Anyway on top of all of that it a matelasse quilt.
Right about now, after looking this over, I think I have a touch of night time OCD, Who in the hell am I kidding? I know it, you know it, why try to hide it? But, alas, it only gets worse. I pull back the matelasse quilt, the third flat sheet, the blanket and the second flat sheet and snuggle in between the bottom flat sheet and all the rest of the crap on my bed.
Next I Facebook a little, blog a little, pop an ambien, a valium and lie my head on two of the pillows. The third pillow? Well, you see, here's where the Diva skips town and the west Texas girl comes back, or maybe it's just the crazy in me. The third pillow goes over my head, all of my head except my nose, my mouth and sometimes my eyes, It can't cover my nose....I mean there is no way in hell that I'm going to breathe in already breathed in, and out, air. It's just not happening. Writing about it almost sends me into a panic attack. And I wonder why I'm in therapy.