Sleep: Your Long-Lost BFF

Idea for cheesy bumper sticker: “My other car is my bed.”

06.22.15
wish-you-were-here-bed-tropical-beach-man-repeller

“Make time” is a bullshit societal construct invented by personal trainers and professional guilt trippers. “You don’t find time,” they tell you, “you make it,” as though time is a baked good and the recipe is on Pinterest and the ingredients come pre-chopped and divided up into little glass bowls.

But unless you’re a life-chef (if you are, get out) then you know that to be busy/crazy/overwhelmed/overworked means there’s not one extra hour of your day that can possibly be creatively rearranged.

The problem is, those closest to you are often the ones to get cut.

You know that one friend who you love — truly love, not a glorified acquaintance nor mid-tier pal — who you just don’t get to see?

You make every effort, every dedication. You swear allegiance to new resolutions, like putting those who matterĀ first, leaving the office at a normal hour, not checking your phone. You promise you’ll spend quality time with her this week (“Finally!”); you swear that this night is going to be about you two — pinky promise.

The difference between these pledges and others is that with this friend, it’s sincere. There’s none of that, “Hey girl, let’s get a drink!,” followed by an apathetic but polite, “Totally!”

You miss her. You really do.

If you ran into this friend on the street you would stop your conversation, drop your bags and embrace. You’d jump up from a dinner date and run at her with excitement. If you could, you’d spend all day doing absolutely nothing together — just like when you were kids, or lazy teenagers.

You’d ditch boyfriends for her, nights out for her, workouts for her for sure.

But you don’t. You can’t. The daily rush gets in the way. There are familial obligations to respect, career deadlines to adhere. You’re like the dad from Liar Liar: well intentioned with confused priorities. “She’ll understand,” you reason. And she will, so you cancel yet again.

This friend for me is as steadfast as a Golden Retriever. Open. Welcoming. Loyal. Always down to hang out, there when I need her. Totally cool when I can’t be there for her. Understanding when I bail because of work, gym or travel.

This friend for me is my bed.

Catch up on what you missed over the weekend, like Dadvice from a Writers Club member and a poem about mourning the loss of Game of Thrones. Add a new word to your vocab: do you know what PFSD means? Then grab a hat, grab a baby, and ask yourself: should I stay, or should I go?

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