the krause pillow chronicles

last night i wanted to go to bed at 8. more than anything else at all, i just wanted to go to bed.
but i couldn't find my pillow.
i laid in bed with my head at an uncomfortable angle, looking at barclay's pillow longingly. he wasn't there, so really, i could just take his pillow. but i didn't want his pillow. i wanted my pillow.
our pillows are the exact same, but the point was not that.
the point was that where was MY pillow?
i let my mind make up a horror movie about a psycho who goes around stealing random things out of people's bedrooms. a pillow. a blanket. a foot.
i looked in the kitchen, and the dining room, and the living room, not necessarily in that order. my pillow was definitely not in the house. so i went back to laying in bed, staring at barclay's pillow.
i thought i heard a noise. i pulled the covers up to my chin, which was farther away than usual because my head was bent back because i couldn't find my pillow. i began to sweat. i really wanted to go to bed. i was afraid of whoever had stolen my pillow. he might be back for my foot any minute now.
barclay came home then and found my pillow. it was behind his pillow.
and then i didn't feel like going to bed anymore.