My bed is a black hole.

Michigan / Oct. 3, 2012 / by Amy Rose
My bed is a black hole.

We all make fun of each other constantly. It's a good way to blow off steam and not let things get too tense. We're all also such easy targets that it would be a constant battle not to rag on one another a little bit.

Among the many things (my lack of volume control, penchant for throwing stuffed pandas, tendency towards nonlinguistic communication, and inclination to say just crazy stuff) is the fact that my bed is like a black hole.

No not in a sexy way or even in a cool way, just in a really-weird-crap-everywhere kind of way. I have more blankets, pillows, sheets, and stuffed animals shoved into my not-quite-twin-sized bed than anyone else. I also have socks in case my feet get cold, gloves in case my hands get hold, a scarf - because, well, it's here - a couple of books tucked in the side, and a nest of papers surrounding it.

Other items that can frequently be found? Pens. Phones. Cameras. Cables. Chargers. Hair ties. Bobby Pins. Tylenol. Starbucks free app cards. Rope lights. Headphones. Earrings. Glasses. 

Think that sounds nuts? Well, there you go. That's the situation that I sleep in ever night. 

But the cherry on top?

The weighted golf club.