Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Greyed out.

Every so often, I discover something about myself that makes me stop and realize that I'm becoming my parents. I'm not talking about another weird-looking, potentially-cancerous mole, though one of them bestowed me with that lovely gene. Thankfully, they haven't been cancerous yet. I'm talking about the neuroses that can't be explained by anything other than a personality trait.

I have my mother's obsession for clean sheets and bedspreads.  This means that I've bought three bedspreads in three years.  As I write this, I have tabs open for new bedspreads. I show no signs of slowing down.

In just as much time, I've realized that none of these bedspreads has been what I actually wanted. On a very regular annual cycle, I would decide that my bedspread was the solution to my bedroom decor problems. Nevermind the hole in my heart for the perfect headboard, my desire to paint the walls, the lack of bedside tables or lamps, to name a few. Clearly the bedspread has never been the pivotal problem. I would spend a few months researching, waiting for perfect prices, and then anticipating the arrival of the bedspread (because I usually order them). 

This was the exact situation I found myself in before I left for England for two months. With the impending trip, however, I showed some restraint and didn't make a purchase. The very day I landed in the states, however, I did. Dad's plane was delayed, so Veronica and I took a trip to nearby Ikea to kill time, and I bought a duvet cover. Honestly, I was in America for three hours and I bought a duvet. This is why Rhonda thinks I'm seventy years old. 

I thought it was the duvet to solve all problems. My former duvet, from West Elm, had proven to not withstand much pressure on its pintucks, so I would occasionally hear a rip when I flopped down on my bed after work. I know there are other solutions to this problem, such as not flopping on the bed in utter exhaustion after work, but it's absolutely the best feeling in the world to take off you pants and flop on your bed after work and the walk home in the oppressive DC humidity. The duvet wasn't having that, though.

The IKEA duvet was plain and without any frills. I wouldn't rip it. I thought the grey would be a nice compliment to my various colors of pillows, and hide any potential spills very well. Somehow the West Elm duvet completely hid a Kool-Aid spill. 

The result was very 'meh'. Instead of making the pillows pop, it seemed to pull them into it's blasé abyss. Note that not all of these pillows live on the bed at the same time - I was just trying to see who would compliment the new bedding best. It's a real life Survivor: Pillows up in here. That, and the comforter within doesn't want to lay flat, so there's persistent lumps. And I need a headboard and side tables.

I thought maybe the problem was the euro sham textures being too matchy-matchy with the standard shams, so a quick trick of the fabric, and I had two new pillows. Or fake pillows, as this is just fabric thrown over them. I'm sorry, that was insulting. Of course you knew that.

Turns out, that wasn't it. It's not working, and I have to face the fact that I might need more of that blue damask fabric. I think, however, that I'll crush this duvet problem with a white bedspread. All white, with subtle texture, and that's big and voluminous. The pillows will pop, my future door-turned headboard will be a neutral, non-completing background to add some masculine to the fluffy, feminine bedding, and it will just be the perfect yin and yang. Funny thing is, I thought I wanted that in January. I held off on that though, and then three months of pent-up duvet-postponed led me to jump on the first neutral in Ikea (because there wasn't a white). I fully regret these decisions.

A lot of this is pending a house and a wedding and other monetary-demanding things. 

As if my six-months of deciding and really feeling that this could be it, fate stepped in with this post on a blog I follow today:

That's Erin's bedroom from House of Earnest and she just so happened to post a new white bedspread today, complete with a narrative about how she's been pining for one, talked herself out of it because it'd be hard to clean, realized that all hotels have white bedspreads and there's a magical thing known as bleach, and then went for it. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

Sorry for so much bedspread talk. I'll try to liven it up.

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