Varieties of affective experience, including self-camouflage.

Here's a tiny taste of what it feels like to come home to a phone message telling you that you're loved and admired.

8:25 p.m.
Dr. S and her excellent friend are on the phone (in a call not unrelated to the abovementioned message though also not the precipitator of that message).

Dr. S: So, I bought new sheets for my bed, and now all I want to do is go home and be in them.
EF: Are they flannel?

Dr. S: Yeah, and today I discovered that the company's selling pajamas made from the same fabric. I could actually make myself disappear in my own bed, all but my hands and head. Only, no one would be there to not-see me.

EF: Can we get you the pajamas for Christmas?
Dr. S: [surprised silence, then laughing] I think it might be pretty weird to have pajamas that match my sheets!
[long pause]
EF: I think that it would be delightful, actually.
Dr. S: Yeah, actually, you might be right. And I could make myself disappear in my own bed, which might be pretty fun. And I'm planning to spend a lot of time working in my pajamas next semester. So maybe this is a good idea. I'll think about it.

And think I will. The bed is now such a cheery pattern on which to dream of checklists whose numbers dance free circles for a moment before turning in (or out?) for the night. As will I, now. What if I blended right in with that pattern?