By G.
Friday, January 15:
It’s chilly. Sixty-five degrees both outside and in. A West Side Cold Snap. Through the narrow slit in the wooden blinds, I see the neighbors wearing puffy jackets.
Mother sent a package. It was supposed to arrive in time for Christmas but got lost in the post. A pumpkin-colored, thick cable-knit, cotton Bearaby weighted blanket. Buttery soft butternut bliss is what the advertisement promised. And it delivered. I’ve taken my position underneath the weighted blanket and have felt what I believe to be a decrease in cortisol, although that could simply be a decrease in bladder pressure due to the slight evacuation I experienced after being topped with the 25-pound blanket.
I will rest here tonight.
Saturday, January 16:
It’s been twenty-four hours under the blanket. No food, no water...but also no hunger, no thirst. The butternut bliss quashes all earthly temptations. I am encased in a cocoon of comfort and softness, untouchable and unbothered as, through the gaps in this chunky cable knit, I binge this true crime documentary about Richard Ramirez.
Sunday, January 17:
I have pressed play on Avengers: Infinity War. It will be many hours before I shift my weight again. Even more if I decide to watch End Game. Hunger and thirst have returned, but my husband has informed me that he will be fetching me neither bread nor water. I am on my own. A child calls out from the bathroom:
“I need a wipe!”
I can hear him, but I cannot help. I cannot move.
Monday, January 18:
I am no longer alone under the weighted blanket. Sometime last night, I was joined by two surprise visitors: my sister’s feet and my child’s butt. No matter. There is ample room under the Bearaby.
Tuesday, January 19:
We are running out of room under the Bearaby. The feet are stirring. The butt is releasing gasses. I had hoped the stench would escape through the chunky cable knit, but alas...it lingers. The Napper was not made to contain this many cortisol-soaked bodies. I don’t have enough serotonin to sustain the current population. Someday soon, decisions will have to be made. I dread that day. But even more, I dread the odor of feet and butts.
Wednesday, January 20:
I have moved the location of the Bearaby. It is no longer a couch and TV blanket. It can’t be. It is a bed blanket and it is mine. From this day on, only I will be farting under the chunky cable knit. And then only I will be haunted by the smell.
Thursday, January 21:
It is 6:45 a.m. when the bell tolls. It tolls for me. But I am paralyzed. I have been overcome by this overweight indulgence. I am afraid. But also, strangely, at peace. Will I die here? Am I fine with that? It’s impossible to tell.
Friday, January 22:
OK, someone please help me take this off...
Thank you for sharing. I appreciate your authenticity and humor as we navigate this world. You keep it real.
I’m so happy you like it!! I was hoping it wouldn’t be too heavy.😉