So, have you ever been given the advice, to make your bed every morning. I think there is a whole book about it. I believe people say that it starts the day off with a small accomplishment that sort of snowballs into more accomplishments throughout the day. They even go as far as saying that even if you have the absolute SHITTIEST day, at least you get to come home to a freshly made bed.
Honestly, that’s about the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard, since every pyramid scheme skin care regimen on Instagram. If making my bed was the only thing I had to do to have a good day, I would be happier than a 13-year-old and a bottle of Jergen’s. The only, and I repeat, THE ONLY good thing about making the bed, is the way it looks when it’s made.
Marisa and I have very different schedules first off, so am I really supposed to put half of the throw pillows on the bed when I get up early, or is she supposed to do the same when she gets up early. Marisa gets up and takes all of seven minutes to get ready and walks out the door, and she doesn’t return home, after taking care of people all day long, for fifteen hours. Do you think these people dying give a shit whether or not she made her bed? I know my patients don’t. My patients barely give a shit that I show up.
Besides the fact that making your bed just traps all the bacteria and dead skin cells inside the sheets, which I truly don’t believe it does, I think it does the exact OPPOSITE of what all these people believe it accomplishes.
Making my bed is an accomplishment that I will ride high all day. It’s not a starting point. That’s my finishing point. That’s the best I’ll feel all day.
Late to work? Well, at least I made my bed.
Parking ticket? Who gives a shit? Have you seen my green throw pillows?
Accidentally touch human shit at work? No worries, at least when I get home from this shit day, I don’t get to just fall into my bed. I have to carry all the throw pillows into the spare bedroom because I’m to cheap to buy a chest to store them in.
It’s silly. It’s a trick. It’s similar to cleaning your room before you can start your homework or write a paper. It’s just something you can say that you did so that if you end up not doing the real task you needed to complete, at least you can say that you cleaned something. It’s bullshit.
If you want to get up and do something, just fucking do it. Don’t tell me you’re better than me because you make your bed in the morning. You’re a rockstar because you fucking start the day doggystyle or down syndrome dog or whatever the fuck they call yoga. I don’t give a fuck.
I start most mornings miserable. That is what mornings are meant for, misery. Sit in bed for 20 minutes holding my pee, because of my “boggy” prostate, as the doctor calls it, finally decide to get up, put my feet on the freezing cold ground and get the day started by walking my dog in the rain, snow, sleet or wind. I’m not complaining, I’m really not. Okay, I am, but like c’mon. You want to make your bed, go for it. You want sleep on the couch, hey, that sounds awful but kudos to you.
Making my bed has never played a part in my accomplishments or lack thereof. Making by bed has always been a procrastination tactic for me. You think I enjoy cleaning my oven? No, but it’s certainly better than doing anything I’m supposed to do. And the great thing about making your bed or doing chores to procrastinate is that you can convince yourself that it’s the right thing. “Of course, I need to make my bed, I’m an adult.” “Who’s going to scrub the floorboards if I don’t?” “Well, I probably should write another article to help pay my student loans, but hey, I haven’t vacuumed under the bed in a while.”
Do something. But don’t make your bed. Or make it. I really don’t care. And neither does anyone else.