Nighttime Window

I open my window at night… late, late at night, when I am awakened to heat by the sounds of someone climbing the stairs to go to bed in the middle of the night, though I never know it at the time, and neither does the stair-climber.  My room is hot, too hot for comfort, especially in the middle of winter, even though it is Houston.  I crawl to the edge and climb out of my bed, down to my shoes, and stumble to the bathroom to relieve my suddenly compressed bladder.  When I return, the heat hits me like a physical wall of warm fabric floating just inside my doorway.  I stumble back to my bed, letting my shoes fall as I climb into it.  I sit for a moment, considering…  The lights are off, so it is all right.

I lean forward on my hands and knees, and I slide open the large window a few inches, before sitting back and relaxing, waiting for the cool air to stream firmly into my room.  I always consider going to sleep with the window left open.  I always close it after only a minute or few, so that I may go back to sleep, at ease.  I want the cooling air, but nothing else is welcome.  In Houston, many a thing might aim to make itself welcome through an open window at night.  And I really don’t want to wake to a rat diving between a stack of boxes.  I want to keep this room clean, please.  And so, I shut the window every time, even though I’m never quite cooled off enough for good rest.  Each night, I silently wish for a screen for the window, while disregarding the wish, because I wasn’t to see the world clearly through the window, whether closed or open, just free of screening… so it cannot be.

So, I open my window at night, out of practical reasons, but silently wish to experience the magic I feel is waiting just outside, waiting in that cool, crisp, winter wonder air.

Post-a-day 2017

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My side of the bed

I sleep in the middle of the bed.

For the past few years, I’ve had a queen or full bed (the size adjective, not as any other adjective).  Unless I have a sleep-over, which has become quite the seldom occurrence since college, I sleep right in the middle of my bed.  At any hotel, I always end up in the center of the bed, when sleeping alone.  Sure, I move to a side and make space when needed, but that is only every so often, and often rarely.  I like my space, I guess, and I usually get it.

It all just makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able really to share a bed with a spouse/partner.  Even when I want to snuggle up to someone or cuddle, I never seem to last very long before I break away and require my own space.  

… Well, I always like just barely touching the person next to me – it is like a verification of the person’s presence, without invading anyone’s space…, like when the dog used to sleep up against me, but not on top of me.  That kind of thing.  I guess I am okay with sharing a bid after all – I just need a bed big enough to give me plenty of space to spread out, while still being able to make slight contact somewhere near the middle of the bed.

But that all wasn’t the point.  The point is that I like sleeping in the middle of the bed, and preferably a large one.  I don’t mind sharing too much, but I just don’t understand how people must sleep on a specific side of the bed (the middle is my side), nor when they do it when not in the middle of sharing the bed with another individual.  Why waste half the space like that, and crush up into oneself?  Oh, well…

Post-a-day 2017

Saturday Mornings

It is nights like tonight and weeks like this past week that have me wish for a Friday night and Saturday morning with my cat. We would typically stay up way late on Friday night, because I finally had no desired bedtime for once, although I was exhausted already from my week.  And then, on Saturday morning, we both would sleep in.  

It was always a sort of drowsy mix of hanging out and deep sleep, all the way to midday or early afternoon.  I’d get up to use the bathroom now and again, maybe even put on a movie for a while before falling back to sleep, and off and on snuggle with my kitty cat.  He would move around on the bed as he wished, sometimes putting good space between the two of us.  However, for the most part, he would snuggle right up to me, usually against my head or neck (and sometimes actually on them), a sort of loving, pillow-like comfort, which I felt brought me a special sense of ease and calm similar to hot cocoa and a fire when it’s cold out.

Yeah, I miss that right now.  I’m even nervous that he won’t really recognize or like me once I’m back home.  Or that he’ll be lonely without other cats (his lives with three right now).  Not much for me to do about that until I get back to the same town as he, right?  Right.

Anyway, the point is that I want to sleep in tomorrow, and snuggle off and on with, I guess, my cat as I do that.
Post-a-day 2017

Stuffed Animals

I love stuffed animals.  Really, I do.  I sleep with them almost every night (when I’m at home, anyway), because they give me constant comfort.  These creatures love me for everything that I am and for everything that I am not.  They snuggle and cuddle willingly with me as much as I want, and none of us minds if someone wants to scoot away a bit during the night (though falling off the bed is always a ghastly event, and we work together to bring back the overboard sleeper).

Right now, I have a large elephant from IKEA, who pretends he’s a person, wrapping his “arms” around me whenever I sleep on my side; and I have a small (though, normal for a stuffed animal) dog who typically sleeps on my chest, and who came to me probably a decade or so ago from my childhood best friend, Jennifer.  They are both incredibly soft and wonderful snugglers.  I love having them in my life and I love them.  No matter my day and no matter how I’m feeling, these guys are ready for me each night, and they hold me just a tight as before, surrounding me with love (as best only two can manage when it comes to the surrounding part).

In college, a friend was staying over at our flat one night (I had a full-sized bed), and she said I slept in the jungle, because of all of my stuffed animals.  I really did have a lot at that time, though.  A small, round tiger; a very large Pink Panther; this same dog here; another dog, too, I think; and a few more I don’t quite recall at the moment…  Essentially, it could feel like a full house, even when I was the only person in the mix.  And, possibly the best part is that none of them cares about getting smushed, so I can roll and turn and crush and cuddle however I please, and they’ll all be happy as ever.  

Stuffed animals are possibly better than real people, actually.  I always struggle to snuggle comfortably with people – it’s almost effortless with my stuffed animals, though. Ten minutes max, and I’m out, totally happily asleep.  With people, I shift and adjust and squiggle, until I finally give up and roll away to rest solo.  Yeah,… maybe I needn’t worry so much about having a husband or anything – we wouldn’t be able to snuggle at night like I’d want anyway, so I might as well stick with the stuffed animals.  ;P  Hehe
Post-a-day 2017