An Exercise in Maximalism

You know I often find myself yearning for adventure, walking miles on end with a clear goal — Snelling Avenue, the Bloomington river basin, Rocky Mountain National Park. But I don’t think I have enough energy, so I don’t go out. I stay in and explore worlds of my own creation or chosen endeavours. Ooo, my bed. I love my bed. Soft and warm and just a big nest of happy sleep. Especially naps. Naps are the greatest joy, and have become rare in my life due to how full my calendar is. Yikes, this feels like it’s been a few hours… we only have ten minutes left. Ten minutes I can do it. But then there is the interview, am I ready for that? I’m so tired… I just want my bed. My bed.

The plains before a large mountain scape, with soft rain and morning dew mixing on the grasses… that sounds like a nice dream. A nice adventure to create for myself, inside. Away from the physical wear and tear of distance. Away from my legs throbbing and the feeling of never, ever wishing to stand up again. Or move. Or do anything ever.

And then it hits, that same feeling of adventure. More mountains — the Colorado River is here. I’m eight again, in shorts and the Old Navy Flag shirt. My brother is young. He’s actually here, around. I miss him. I miss him and how I’d see him everyday, even if the interactions weren’t too substantial. There is something to be said on the dichotomy of seeing someone everyday without meaningful interaction versus seeing someone infrequently with meaningful interaction. But isn’t everything meaningful? It’s life, right? There has to be something human about every interaction, inherently, so that must mean it’s all meaningful- because it’s human.

I was told to write to my bed. To the point where I mention my bed in the apex of my writing piece. But I don’t feel this time is right. So, let’s keep going. ‘Next, please.’

God, I keep returning to those mountains, that field, that giant black horse and the wind moving across the yellow plains. Where is that? Can I find that in real life? Could I see that through my physical eyes instead of the magic eyes that lie inside my head? …Do I want to? There is serenity to be found in something of your own perfect creation. Oh- here’s an idea. We are created in God’s image, yeah? That’s why we have a mind’s eye. He used his to make us, and we use ours to see things we wish for. …Were we his wish? Maybe I’ll find out, in a dream. Since dreams can be communication between planes… maybe. At least, that’s what popular culture thinks. “Popular culture,” sure.

My bed is my favourite place because it’s warm, soft and filled with pillows. It allows me to sleep and find inner peace. The repairing of my cells and body, refreshing my emotions and that blissful moment when you wake, or forgetfulness — before reality sets in and SLAMS you with the realisation of your responsibilities. That is my goal, to get to a place in life where I don’t feel responsibilities any more, I do what I love. And that is it. My dream, my creation, my Universe. I want it to be a reality, because that is the one thing that will not suffer in reality. It will grow, expand and become even more inspiring as more people take it into their hearts. I want my bed. The dreams that are in my bed. The creation of mind, that lies in my bed.

My bed, is in my head.


This piece was written as an exercise of maximalism — including everything you think while you are writing. The saying “my bed, is in my head” is from a Eileen Myles piece, where in which she says: “Jim Fahey is in my head” from “The Importance of Being Iceland.”