I tumble onto the bed, feeling the softness of my childhood. Although I am a fully grown adult, I feel like an awkward fetus in a familiar  position - my body splayed out, staring at the hatch, wondering how to escape. There were feverish nights on this pillow, restless tossing and turning under the blanket. A feeling of being cocooned while staying trapped.
Wow LOL, I guess I really did pin this onto the headboard of the bed.    

As a child, I was very rough. I liked poking things, peeling things apart, and having them jarringly stand out. It is a kind of pent up energy that I can channel into cooking today, that never really found its outlet until I moved out. I mean, I was never allowed into the kitchen.