I've never been very good at sharing a bed. That seems to me to be one of the crappy parts of being an adult, that you have to share your bed with someone who might steal your covers away, or sleep in a star shape while you struggle to hold in to your little bit of space.
Because I have so much trouble with sleeping, I am pretty damn particular about such things. Amongst the many wonderful things of singledom is the wonderful thing of having my bed to myself.
I took this photo of the magical space that is the bed in the back of my awesome van, Maude the Mazda. On account of the amount of whiskey I needed to drink to deal with Tony Abbott becoming Australia's Prime Minister, I was unable to drive home on election night (this wasn't an accidental thing, let the record show). I parked my lovely Maudie outside Paddy's house on a flat spot and had a little sleepover.
I'd recently added a few important elements to the bed- the multicoloured rug was a score from an op-shop, as was the lacy pillowslip. It is my intention to furnish Maude with floral sheets as soon as possible, and maybe a little spot to secure my book, notepad and pen so they do not disappear into the bedding.
That bed is one of my particular favourites. In the morning, the sun comes through the pink curtains and gives everything that rose-coloured wonder that on this particular morning was quite perpendicular to the Australian political situation. When you awake, well-rested despite (or perhaps due to) the amount of whiskey imbibed, and you are in a warm rosy world, you are able to feel a little joy in your heart. Fact.