Self-imprisonment

I didn’t feel like getting dressed this morning, so I stayed in my rather handsome blue striped cotton pyjamas, then I remembered how, several weeks ago I silently pledged to do something different every day. I reckoned I hadn’t made any particular changes for a few days. I didn’t feel like tidying the bed, so I decided to abandon the habit of a lifetime and leave it as it was. In addition, I didn’t open the curtains and I didn’t shower. Altogether, these omissions amounted to four changes, and I reckoned that got me up to date.

I expected to feel liberated, but instead I feel imprisoned; I can’t go outside, because I’m not dressed and, anyway, I feel too grubby to face the world; and I don’t want to go in the bedroom to retrieve a book I left on the bedside cabinet, because I don’t want to see the unmade bed.

I’m beginning to suspect that today changes may not have been the right kind, and am wondering when I ceased to be a rebel.

Please excuse me for a few minutes – I’m off to make the bed, draw back the curtains, shower, and get dressed.

©Jane Paterson Basil