12,522 Days Alive
I’m having one of those nights where I’m fighting to stay awake long enough to take me meds. I want to crawl into bed and just pass out.
I just feel run down. Tonight’s a night where I’ve got the weighted blanket ready to go and I’m writing this blog entry with my chin perched atop the head of my teddy bear.
I’d love to tell you that this bear has some sort of wonderful history behind it.
It could have been a companion from my childhood, one who saw me up many a tree and seated in my lap for the books I’ve devoured by the hundreds over the years. Or it could have been a friend from the last vestiges of my teenage years where I was homeless and rudderless.
But nope. I have maybe seven things in my life from before the age of twenty one and four of them are pictures. Another is the chain I wear my pentacle on, and said pentacle that I’ve had since 2003, and another is a copy of DJ Conway’s Celtic Magic. This lovely bear was a little day ending in -y gift from my Darling Wife we picked up at a WalMart a year or three bag. It’s a little hug-worn, but soft and well-loved.
With how… tumultuous, to be kind, my formative years were, I take no issue with enjoying comfort items no matter how they are often misunderstood. I like fuzzy, playful socks. They make me smile. I like chewing gum, or on straws. I still have fidget toys and spinner rings and they help when I’m feeling anxious. I have hats I wear, when not at work, that I’ve had for years now-since college! I guess I’m still going through that beret phase. I love fingerless gloves and mismatched earrings. I have more pens than I could ever practically need and love storing them in sassy coffee cups in my writing nook.
These are my comfort items. Simple, silly, sensible, and satisfying little things that help when life sucks a bit.
What are some of your comfort items? How do you make yourself smile on bad days? I’d love to know.
Take your meds, folks.