Warm Blanket
I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness and what it looks like. I don’t think we know anymore because everyone wears a public face all the time. Everyone wants others to think they are happy, and sometimes those of us who are struggling the most put on the happiest of faces. I’ve never had that problem because I don’t externally emote much around strangers. I’m lukewarm.
We spend time projecting our best selves onto a grid on a tiny computer that holds the knowledge of the universe. It’s a bit mad. We miss the green-yellow leaf falling in our path while a sunbeam reflects off a raindrop on the side of a gutter lush with patina. I’ve noticed more and more as I get older. The little things are a different pleasure that too many are missing out on.
My boy cat is sleeping at the foot of my bed on a yoga blanket. My yoga teacher and friend sent me fourteen photos of cats in Istanbul, or from other countries she was in. We communicate in cats a lot. We talk about work, but everything is cats. I wonder where my cats came from and what it must feel like to have so many warm blankets to lie on.
I read something wonderful the other day, and I hope I can put it into play with someone. It was a New York Times article about old friends and how not to let the friendship flounder. It said that a good thing to do is to FaceTime each other when you are both doing mundane tasks around the house. My son does this with his girlfriend all the time. He is ahead of his time.
I am not a warm glass of milk, but I used to love it when my mom made me a warm glass of milk. It was all of her love in a tall glass. She always knew the right temperature. She probably tested it or let it cool. She would never have wanted me to burn my tongue. She was my warm blanket. For thirty-five years, I’ve only had sheets.
My daughter used to sleep in the pillow of my Vizsla’s stomach and suck her thumb and twirl her hair. Parenting is incredible. You walk around lonely until you create someone who is part of you. You will never feel lonely in the same way again. Then you get a divorce, and you only get half the days, and your old loneliness now seems like a distant star in a universe of despair.
Cuddling with a partner while you sleep is not functional. If we had holes in our bodies for our partners to put their hands through, it would be much smoother positioning and less jocularity. I used to like to sleep butt to butt when I was in a relationship. I always turned over. Now I turn over to see the wall while it reflects an untouched side as an abstract painting in my pre-dream.
Toss me the blanket and let me sleep.
© Jonathan Greene, September 5, 2026
