Animals in the Bed

 I couldn’t sleep last night. It appears as though once you wake up your brain, it can be a little resistant to sleeping again for fear of the situation becoming permanent.  It was a playful puppy all night. The joyful exuberance was fun at first. This thought, that thought, leaping here and there. This could be a blog post, a story, a project, what about this idea? I delighted in the twisting and turning, playing and chasing ideas. My brain was alive again.




 But once the small hours hit, I firmly and fairly told it to go sit down in the corner, and with great reluctance it did …. for a while. But before long, it was up begging at me, with big soulful eyes, to be attended to, to be loved and appreciated.  Having passion about something could be seriously detrimental to my already precarious sleep-wake balance.  But having passion is something to be celebrated indeed.  It carries through to all parts of your life – how you love yourself, how you love your partner, how you love your children.

Before having children, I used to sleep naked. I remember the day in university when I made the decision to rid myself of nightwear. It was an act of rebellion, of asserting myself as an “adult”. A teenager at university, I was far from home, far from any rules or good common sense.  And although I was generally a sensible teenager, I was flying in the face of flannette. Desperately opposing the single digit temperatures in our well-air-conditioned Dunedin flat to feel the silky sensation of satin sheets and convince myself, despite all doubt; I was a sultry, passionate woman of age.  Of course the freedom became addictive, and over many years through meeting and wedding my husband, I saved many dollars that could have been well spent on drawers of lacy nighties, silky sets or even toasty comfortable longs.

 I don’t, however, remember exactly when I started wearing pyjamas again. Somehow I lost that freedom. Somewhere in learning to change nappies, to soothe and settle, passion took a backseat to pyjamas. I was confronted by my sensible side, and who can argue with early wake-ups and leaky boobs as evidence of the requirement to put modesty ahead of passion. A change was afoot. I became even more so practical in so many ways, and lost that little spark of whimsy which had led me that fateful day to spontaneously toss my shorties. 

Change was needed and was the correct decision at the time. Change is once again needed. Thank you sensible side, you did your job, but your services are now no longer required. Guess what…. last night I slept naked.

What insignificant events in your life have had deeper meaning?  What is your passion and how do you show it?