For two days now I have not made my bed. In the two years my daughter and I have lived in our own apartment, I have made my bed ever day. It's true! (Sick days are the exception, of course.)
Every morning is the same: get up, brush teeth, drink water and make the bed. It makes me feel accomplished in the wee hours of the morning. I have done at least one visible feat for the day.
Yet, for the last two days it sits untouched. And I don't know why. It makes me sad. Climbing into bed isn't as much fun - you can't find the sheet and everything is frumpy and cattywampus.
Maybe it is a phase? Maybe I am trying to shake my comfort zone? When the bed is made I feel that all is well in the world...even if it is not.