It's funny how laying our head to rest on a pillow that we're not used to can give us such an unnerving sleep. I've just ended coming back to Southend to pick up my douvet and sort a few more things out and I have been inspired by my resting ground.

After spending the night in a very comfortable bed in a very nice flat in Lambeth,  I had a very disturbing sleep on Sunday. Maybe it was to do with struggling to breath, given this horrid winters air.  Maybe it was the bizarre dream of me being a hoe to a bunch of 'Niggas'. Or maybe, it was the fact that this was going to be my bed for the next two months.

Now I don't get homesick very often. I leave places for a reason. But somehow, I had a pang of longing for my Southend bed, including it's springs that dig into every possible inch of your body. it may not have been the bed I longed for, but it was more being in that environment. To be surrounded by the things you know; the network of people you have been with for a length of time; the uninteresting high street which was easily accesible, is a great comfort of being stable. Now I am in the middle of Lambeth, have no idea where everything is, and not only do I have to get to grips with the local amineties, but the rest of London. Very daunting.

I've always had a bed. My painted white cast iron bed in my blue room, my bunk bed in my Harry Potter den, my horrid, wheeled eighties looking bed, my mums brass bed when I was at nans, hostel bunk beds, ex boyfriends untidy bed, camp beds, halls beds, borrowed beds, boyfriends even untidier beds, air beds, boyfriends aunties beds, sofa beds, and now this bed. But the thing is, I always think about the next bed I'm going to sleep in. Then look back and miss all the old beds. It's bedlam. When moving in with the grandparents, mums brass bed didn't feel like mine, as it only felt like a matter of time when I would be leaving. The bed I ran off to at uni was uncomfortable, and I spent the year resenting being in that bed and waiting to move into a new flat. The irony was, when I moved into the new flat, I soon discovered how expensive matresses were, and ended up aqquiring a free double matress - from halls. But what with my boyfriend moving out of his home and having to crash on sofas and the like, it became a place of stability. It was the only place we had together which was totally private. It became MY bed. It wasn't like the bed at mums, where I was afraid to have even straight boys sitting on my bed, for fear of my mother entering my room with fresh orange in a jug, pretending everything is normal when we all knew that she was paronoid that I was trying to seduce them under her roof (my mother knew me far too well). It was a bed that told me when the dribble ridden bedding was in need of changing. It was a bed where I didn't have to change the sheets if I couldn't be bothered. It was my territory. It even had my own scent on it.

But now i have a new bed, a new life and shouldn't look back.

A bed always feels so much more comfortable when it hasn't been slept in for some time.


(sorry for the shortish post, I just got bored)