The Thinking Sapling

It is quite an extraordinary feeling when you see a younger you appreciate an element of life that you do today. Of all matters, I find myself in agreement with my younger self regarding his appreciation for sleep. In his words,

I like to sleep in bed.
I’m a sleepy head.

It is time to wake up says the clock.
And time to wear my smelly sock.
I just want to sleep in bed.
With a pillow beneath my head.

Beds are cool,
Pillows are also cool.

I love to sleep in bed.
With a soft pillow beneath my head.
It is time to lay down your head.
So lets go find a soft bed.

Now its time to…
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Me (March 2017)

There were a few questionable artistic choices I made over eight years ago. The reliance on the words bed and head and the thirty-six z’s at the end are certainly noteworthy. However, the message is rather clear; he didn’t want to get out of bed.

Which brings us to my views on sleep today. I also prefer to stay in bed rather than get up. Why would one wish to be sundered from the warmth of a blanket and soft pillows? The comfort provides a space where I can pretend the worries of the world are of little matter. All that matters is getting rest: an escape from responsibility and expectation.

Yet, here lies the kicker: even if we both appreciate this element of life, how do I know if he valued sleep the same way I do today? Did he appreciate the momentary rest, or was it simply an appreciation of pillows? Was he escaping something? School troubles? Parental wrath? Or was he simply being “childish”?

I wish I could recall the exact answers, but in truth, I wonder if he even knew what they were. Maybe things were pushing him to appreciate sleep that he didn’t consciously realise. I suspect certain answers, but here’s not the place to discuss them.

Anyhow, my rewrite of this one.

I like to sleep, head on a pillow,
tucked away from life and trouble.
In the darkness, safe behind doors.
I curl up under a blanket, soft and warm.

The chime rings out signalling morn.
Hit snooze; it’s barely dawn!
Five more minutes turned to ten.
Time to stretch — then tuck back in.

The comfort of the bed
and the softness of the pillows.
Under a warm blanket still –
as the sun eclipses the windowsill.

Time is ticking; we’ll be late!
Oh, why go? So cursed is fate.
The endless list of coming chores,
which lay outside those wooden doors.

The chime rings, tap and dismiss.
Give ourselves five more minutes.
Roll over and lie on your head.
Close your eyes; we’re still in bed.