There’s a reason it’s hard to get out of bed in the morning, and a reason it feels so good to come back to my room after a long day.
Songs and the media always talk about how they miss the smell of ‘you’. I’ve never had a ‘you’ to miss, I have me, and that’s the smell that surrounds me and comforts me.
When I wake up in the morning, I wake up with it clinging to me, to my blankets and my pillows. Which is why it’s such a calming scent, it’s the scent of my bed and my body, the location that is the most positively mine especially when I don’t often have places that are really truly mine and myself, and then the one thing I’ll always have. It’s also something comfortingly physical. The combination of my skin and my pheromones, clinging to things as if to prove that they are mine. When I walk into my room I’m hit by a wave of my own scent, my presence has marked my territory.
It’s a comforting presence, the best way I can describe the feeling is one of grounding. It says I am here I am a body and I will continue to be here. If I were to wildly speculate I would say this comes from a time when our ancestors had to rely much more on scent, if they only distinguished their own scent, and not say that of a saber tooth tiger or a bear, or something else, it could only mean that they were safe and secure, and that response is now engrained in us.
I love this scent, and the connection to a place it represents. And after staying in all day surrounded by my own scent I really wanted to just write about it a little. Tomorrow I’ll be posting a post I wrote on Monday about memory that I’ve been too lazy to type up. Until then, do you take comfort in your own scent? Or do you not even notice it or think it’s gross? Let me know.