Sleeping in the exact middle of my queen-size bed is strangely fulfilling.
"This whole world is wild at heart, and weird on top."
The things you pick up as you go.
There’s something about men when they’re asleep that is more heartbreakingly beautiful than any other time when they’re awake. I think it’s that they look exactly like a cross between a boy and a man, with long lashes resting on their high cheekbones. I love it. I’ll wake up early just to watch them.
OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH.
You could make me the happiest girl in the world with this room.
I’d need nothing else; not shoes, not clothes, not diamonds, not pearls.
Just books, sunlight, and love.
Don’t you know; my childhood bedroom has ended up being the biggest and best of all those that I’ve lived in yet.
God, I love interior decorating. Theme here is Old Meets New— The Windsor chair, marble-top dresser, and dark wood nightstands are from a totally different era and contrast the modern, futuristic lamps, light-finished wood tables, and colorful magazines and picture frames scattered around the room. It seemed fitting, given the circumstances.
I still can remember the first night you spent over— you, in jeans, on top of the covers, and me, all the way across the bed, in shorts, under the sheets, and covered in nerves.
I never have worn shorts to bed since I was 10. I never would with you, again.
My best friend was in town today for a quick visit, and met me when I got off of work so that we could catch up and hang out on my sofa and drink beers, like old times. (I wish I were kidding. We had bad high school habits.) We were amusing my mom with general tales of our freakish bond through the years when Nora force-cuddle-attacked me, and I let her. I’m generally not big on physical affection unless it involves a penis and an orgasm, but I played dead, went limp, and let her do it. Afterward, I looked at her and said, “And you’re probably the only person who can get away with that and still have your face intact afterwards.”
We reminisced over all the bullshit we used to do to each other— the times I bit her while drunk, all the mornings she took off at a run down the long hallway to my room, culminating in a swan-dive straight onto my sleeping, prone body that resulted in the rudest wake-up calls of all time— when she mentioned something about the infamous early-morning ambushes that legitimately shocked me:
She said, “Yeah, well, the problem was, if you actually slept with your arms at your sides, it wouldn’t have been a problem and I wouldn’t have had to worry about getting punched or scratched like I did, but you sleep with your hands curled up near your face, so even if you were on your side and pressed up against the wall like usual, you could still turn before I landed on you and claw my eyes out.”
Solid. gold. truth.
And that’s when it hit me— how many guys have I been with/slept with/lived with who could actually give you an accurate print-out like that of how I sleep? I mean, I sleep like that EVERY NIGHT OF MY LIFE, and I am pretty sure NONE of my exes could hit that nail on the head that well. I mean, c’mon…I know like, three of you guys read this— did you notice that about me? Could you have told other people how to wake me up safely? Do you know what side I fall asleep on, and how I cradle my head in my hands? No? No? No? I thought not.
Having a best friend like that is a bond that blows my mind at times.
…And for the record, I can tell you she sleeps diagonally across the bed. Every. Night.
All the time I’ve been spending in Man Land lately has been making my architectural/decorating leanings much more masculine and minimalistic.
Fuck, I just want an apartment/house/place-of-my-own-and-possibly-one-other-person’s-preferably-of-the-male-gender to own and design.
…Also, the blue sheepskin rug and rough-hewn headboard are KILLING me.