Sleeping In

In January, I love my bed.

Normally, I am up at an embarrassingly early hour, before my alarm even, waking as soon as the sun comes up. But during the cold days of winter with so few daylight hours, I have no enthusiasm to greet the day. And why would I?

It is still seriously dark at 5:30 a.m.—the middle of the night type of darkness. The house is cold, and the bed is warm. Flannel sheets, a fleece blanket, and a down comforter create a cocoon of indulgence that makes me seriously wonder why humans don’t hibernate. So warm and comfy, it is like being on a tropical beach without the inconvenience of all the sand, the flight, or paying for it.

Now normally I would chide myself to jump right up and out of bed. Those Yankee sensibilities--duty before pleasure and refusal to give into baser instincts when virtue calls--die hard. But instead of fighting this reluctance to crawl out of my warm den of slothdom, I’ve decided to simply give in to the instinct, to nestle in and enjoy the warmth. Instead of getting up when the alarm goes off, I lie in the dark and revel in the luxury of being able to steal a few more minutes.

And the world hasn’t fallen apart. Everyone is still getting to where they need to go; all the morning tasks are getting done.

But, since I am still sitting here in my bathrobe and pajamas at noon, perhaps I am taking this new sloth-like behavior just a bit too far.