We’re home from vacation (more on that later) and I cannot tell you how happy I was to fall into my own bed the other night. I take my bed for granted when we’re home — it’s just a bed, after all — but when I’ve been away, I’m always glad to be back between my own sheets. Go figure.

I spent a long time yesterday unpacking, which always leads to cleaning out my closet, which is odd, I know. But my bedroom is a kind of safe space for me, away from the stress of the day; we don’t have a television or a phone in our bedroom, because I read years ago that people with insomnia (hello!) should ban those things from their sleeping space. I have a big pile of magazines and books next to my side of the bed, and an old school alarm clock without a snooze button, and some delicious hand lotion that smells like chocolate. Ahh.

It’s good to be home.
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