Why is it so hard to pull yourself out of that perfect warm spot in your bed? And, why is it even harder to re-create it?

I’m not a scientist… there are no helpful hints here.

You wake up, on your own (maybe to an alarm), and as you let your brain catch up, the first thing it notices is that your body has found its way to perfection. While you were asleep, an arrangement was reached between you, the bed, the sheets, and the pillow. It’s exactly the right temperature (you can’t even remember what cold toes are), none of your limbs have fallen asleep, your aches and pains and old sports injuries are all muted, and the birds outside the window have temporarily relocated. You are in what I have to assume is the closest thing we’ll ever come to heaven on Earth, and undoubtedly you have somewhere else you have to be.

A cruel twist of fate.

Something I think about this a lot when I find myself granted a few moments of vacation to the Perfect Spot; why, if I know exactly what this looks and feels like, can’t I recreate it?.

You dip even one toe past the edge of that heat cocoon, and it’s game over. No matter how fast you pull that toe, that finger, heck, that earlobe back into position, it’s gone. Like you’ve left a window open in the middle of a snowstorm. The Perfect Spot fills with chill faster than you’ll ever troubleshoot the problem.

The next night, you wonder if you’ll be able to recreate the magic. You can’t. Not even if you had the perfect chalk outline of your position to guide you back. It’s not the same. Never again will you be able to slip back in time to euphoria.

Balance, I guess. That’s how one of the most sublime places a human can experience is also the most dreadful. If you wake up there, you know it will never last, so you have to enjoy it while you have it (and apparently wax poetic about it while you wait for your coffee).