I washed all the toss pillows on Sunday. The plan was to put them back on Monday, but this week was so filled with soccer practice, field trips, big decisions, medical mishaps and more that the task was too inconsequential to remember. Instead, at the end of every night this week I would sit on the couch and think something was different. A little off. Almost the same, but not quite. It wasn’t until today, when the long week of stress and Vampire Diaries brought about an impromptu power nap at around 4:30 that I realized the pillows were still sitting on the dryer.
Tired as I was, walking to the laundry room seemed far too complicated. I’m still not sure of my logic, but at that moment it seemed like far less work to walk into the bedroom for one of our pointless decorative pillows, completely bypass the bed, and trudge back towards an extra-firm sofa riddled with stains for a twenty minute nap. I could spin it and say that deep down, I just wanted to find comfort in the center of our home on a sofa that bends under the weight of memories. But, really, I think I was just delirious.