This year, for my birthday, Linette ordered a “weighted blanket” for me. Well, it came today, and I’m laying under it right now, struggling to fill my lungs. I can see the appeal. It’s comforting. It’s like the lead apron you have to wear at the dentist’s office when you’re having X-rays taken. I’ve yet to read up on it, but, according to Linette, it’s supposed to make me feel warm and secure, “just like a cow walking through an execution chute designed by Temple Grandin.” I’d like to stay up tonight and write more about the implosion of the Trump administration, but I’m inclined to just give in, allow it to crush me to sleep, and see if maybe there’s something to the claim that blankets like this can increase serotonin production. [I apparently produce very little serotonin, which I imagine isn’t that uncommon for people who, like me, have OCD.] OK, that’s all for now. I’ll try to report back later, unless, of course, I wake up so happy, well-adjusted and content that I just never return to the blog again.
[The above photo was taken by my son, Arlo, who likes to grab my cell phone in the morning and take photos of me as I’m working in bed.]