For the last seven-plus years I’ve slept quite comfortably in a twin-sized bed, covered by (at minimum) a flannel sheet and a light quilt. I admit that one of the things I’m looking forward to in Michigan is a reintroduction to the joys of queen-sized sleeping, but this sturdy twin has served me well. However, in the weeks since I started the supplement protocol to restore health and vitality to my depleted adrenal glands, I’ve been experiencing a unique phenomenon. I’m not sure what to call it. It is evident that the way I sleep now is somehow different but, as the sleeper, I haven’t been privy to observation. And my bear Dooley, who has been spending much more time than usual on the floor at night, never complains, never explains. All I know is that I now somehow remove the sheet from the bed without disturbing the quilt. One morning I awoke to discover that a thin strip of sheet remained clinging to the head of the bed and a thin strip remained clinging to the foot of the bed, but the entire middle of the sheet was draped uselessly along the side of the bed, falling in graceful folds down to the floor. And this morning when I woke, the entire sheet was bunched up at the head of the bed, stuck with it’s flannel magnetism not beside the pillow, but to the side of the mattress, once again puddling onto the floor. Thankfully, most mornings the sheet has just pulled annoying out from the wall-side and is creeping across the middle of the bed, but there are nights when it is definitely an overachiever. Meanwhile, my steadfast quilt stays dutifully straight and tucked in, carrying in loyal solitude the burden of keeping an easily chilled sleeper covered and warm.
When I wake up I never remember performing any gymnastics, magic tricks or illusions. But my rogue sheet tells a different tale.