manly fantasies

they say the best thing about waking up, is folgers in your cup. while i do love a warm coffee hug in the morning, i disagree. the best thing about waking up is knowing you can go back to bed whenever you want.

for the past two weeks i spend my days trying to remember what i forgot. everyday i wrack my brain asking myself just what it was that was so important. then i lay myself to sleep and put my hands behind my head. ahhh. then i remember. deodorant!

my bed is a disaster zone. i occupy a strict 5' x 2' area, but my bed is still full. it is mostly full of books. i have adult add and can't just read one at a time. and i also don't have the time to put them back on my shelves. currently on the racks of my sleepy library are 2 david sedaris memoirs, a huge ass book of scandinavian fairy tales (i read the pancake man last night) jesus calling (all good christians read it), and my ibook from 2006. thats a computer, but it has the word book in it so i thought it should count too. at the bottom of my bed are at least 12 pairs of socks. (seriously, who can sleep with socks on???) bras, pants, a mens pajama set that i somehow take off in the middle of the night and an occasional bowl that was once filled with pickles at 4am.

my sleeping habits have become more than habits. obsessive compulsive rituals may be too strong of a title, but we're gaining on that. When i was little I forced myself to breathe out of my mouth because i was scared my nose would get plugged at night and i would die. now i know only chubby people breathe through their mouths, so i started sleeping with a fan to aid my respiratory system. little did i know the fan also covered up all those annoying noises i used to tolerate. wind. clocks ticking. dad's snoring. the soft soft sound of my own breaths.  i used to be so gracious. if left without a fan or whitenoise app on my ipod, i toss, turn and sometimes cry myself through a sleepless night, thinking of my beautiful turbo power mini fan bought on sale at wal-greens.

i've tried to ween myself slowly from my mini-fan dependence. i stopped letting it be the first thing i packed when traveling. i allowed for it only when there was adequate space. (somehow there always was....who needs underwear, really?) i know it is a joke. i know that my husband will snore and breathe heavier than any turbo fan could cover up. i know that i can conquer this. but i think i'll focus on my other fears first. i need my fan.

looks like i just did a bed themed blog. i love themes. i think they're funny. i once had a 101 dalmations themed room. then i had a broadway musical theme. nowadays, i just have a dream to go to one of those themed hotels. i think they're used mostly for weird lovers and their role play, but whose to say they're the only ones who can have fun and whose to say role play can only be for intimate times? while my hotel neighbors will be enjoying their arabian palace for sexy-time, i will happily be living out my little house on the prairie fantasies (the appropriate kind) in the covered wagon room talkin' to imaginary pa and wishin' Manly Wilder was there to walk me home from school!