Hold On To Your Panties; the Excitement May Just Be Too Much For Ya
It's 5am and I am sitting in the wreckage of what was most likely my room but seems to be a rather unidentifiable mass of crap at the moment. I can't sleep; surprising only in that for the past week its seemed very much like I have been blessed with mono for a fourth time, visibly inflamed spleen, diziness and all. I did, in fact fall asleep at the unheard of hour of 10-ish, but woke up in a fit of coughing and sneezing and have been unable to fall back asleep. I'm sure it doesn't help that it sounds like there's a wild boar with snorting Tourettes in my bed, but seeing as how said boar spent something like 10 grueling hours figuring out how to assemble the unidentifiable pile of lumber that's been sitting in my corner for months now into the world's sturdiest loft bed ever and completely rearranging the monolithic shelving units that encompass the rest of the room, I'm a bit reticent to send an elbow jab to his ribcage.
The upside is that while I may be awake in a completely exhausted sick body at an ungodly hour of the morning, I am awake sitting in the newly created sitting space underneath my super swanky new loft bed, and that's pretty damn exciting. So now when people visit, they won't be faced with my bed as the absolute only option other than standing. While this puts an end my primary theoretical seduction tactic, I don't like to bring booty home to my shared closet if I can help it anyway (tiny space, railroad apartment, roomate, and attack cat that opens the door all night don't add up to the sexiest of scenarios) so its really only a theoretical loss.
I am thrilled with my new super swanky new loft bed. I am less than thrilled with the prospect that awaits me later in the morning of trying to reassemble my room and find new corners to hide all the crap contained therein. It's also new and a change and of course freaking me out slightly because home no longer looks like home...never mind that I've been contemplating a loft bed for about a year now and planning for one for about that long. And I still have my good matress - the only good matress I've ever had in my whole life, courtesy of the wonderful Bhunjati, who defines generosity. The boxspring and frame, however, have to go and I will ridiculously mourn their loss for no logical reason whatsoever. I'm weird about change like that. I'm sure once my gigantic scene painting class relic (from an old shop supervisor freshman year of college) copy of a Chagall is up I will feel much better; Chagall's good for the soul in that comforting way.
Owning way too much shit in a tiny space in not good for the soul, just in case you were wondering. How do I keep amassing so much stuff and why am I saving stupid shit like an extra set of $20 plastic shelving? In the event that I suddenly discover an extra room hidden somewhere in the apartment I can traverse the entirety of in literally 2 seconds? There is one half of a microscopic closet in the whole place, so its not like I've got places to stash this crap; yet horde it I do. I also wash and reuse ziplock bags whenever I can, especially if they're the fancy schmancy zipper kind (well that shit's expensive and I'm piss poor okay?). So what does this say about me and my inability to let go of things? And people?
Shit! Anyone want some cheap plastic shelves? I'll throw in a boar with snorting Tourettes and a swollen spleen at no extra charge...
The upside is that while I may be awake in a completely exhausted sick body at an ungodly hour of the morning, I am awake sitting in the newly created sitting space underneath my super swanky new loft bed, and that's pretty damn exciting. So now when people visit, they won't be faced with my bed as the absolute only option other than standing. While this puts an end my primary theoretical seduction tactic, I don't like to bring booty home to my shared closet if I can help it anyway (tiny space, railroad apartment, roomate, and attack cat that opens the door all night don't add up to the sexiest of scenarios) so its really only a theoretical loss.
I am thrilled with my new super swanky new loft bed. I am less than thrilled with the prospect that awaits me later in the morning of trying to reassemble my room and find new corners to hide all the crap contained therein. It's also new and a change and of course freaking me out slightly because home no longer looks like home...never mind that I've been contemplating a loft bed for about a year now and planning for one for about that long. And I still have my good matress - the only good matress I've ever had in my whole life, courtesy of the wonderful Bhunjati, who defines generosity. The boxspring and frame, however, have to go and I will ridiculously mourn their loss for no logical reason whatsoever. I'm weird about change like that. I'm sure once my gigantic scene painting class relic (from an old shop supervisor freshman year of college) copy of a Chagall is up I will feel much better; Chagall's good for the soul in that comforting way.
Owning way too much shit in a tiny space in not good for the soul, just in case you were wondering. How do I keep amassing so much stuff and why am I saving stupid shit like an extra set of $20 plastic shelving? In the event that I suddenly discover an extra room hidden somewhere in the apartment I can traverse the entirety of in literally 2 seconds? There is one half of a microscopic closet in the whole place, so its not like I've got places to stash this crap; yet horde it I do. I also wash and reuse ziplock bags whenever I can, especially if they're the fancy schmancy zipper kind (well that shit's expensive and I'm piss poor okay?). So what does this say about me and my inability to let go of things? And people?
Shit! Anyone want some cheap plastic shelves? I'll throw in a boar with snorting Tourettes and a swollen spleen at no extra charge...
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 5:00 AM
1 Comments:
Why is it that you can paint this portrait of an urban detritus kind of life and still make people smile? Oh, I remember...it's called being a writer, and you're a fine one at that!
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