life at the speed of run

purrfection (see also: standard)

that awkward moment when the only reason you don’t cave and devour the rest of a delicious burger for fourthmeal

is that it’s cold as hell and your bed has all the cozy. i never said i was virtuous. T-minus nine hours until that bacon cheeseburger is inside my mouth again.

19 plays

Jónsi— Tornado.

it’s impossibly cold tonight. i sift the snarl from the air brought inside. sometimes an embrace from its own two arms is enough, for loneliness. and sometimes “not quite” is all that’s left. but it does what it may. life grades on effort.

one of my favorite things to do is to toe the line between sleep and wakefulness. only rivulets of tension percolate into this hinterland.

i get to just be. do you know how big that is, in my corner?

the Sleepytime Me GPOY.

it’s been forty-five minutes since i uncurled from my cove of comforter and kelp-strand sheets.

isn’t it sea otters who nest within our Pacific Giant Sea Kelp as an adaptive measure against night tides? they’re still terribly endangered, and we’re to blame, but bless them for clinging to whatever provides succor against even more primal a force than human insatiability. i’m not ready to be hurled into my open ocean either (nature, not nurture). so i too swaddle myself in anchors.

is the wind howling where you all are?

because i’m living for it right now. not leaving this bed until absolutely necessary (read: hunger, thirst, light-turning-off, invitation to enjoy good company).

the convergence of desire and convenience

is essentially what’s keeping me in bed at this technically ridiculous hour of day. sleeping in, like napping, is a feat i often lunge for and almost always faceplant, swearing like a sailor, after a flailed miss. last night, i somehow snatched the former. my prize: almost eleven hours of seamless repose. can you blame me for lounging on my laurels? of course you can, but that doesn’t mean i have to pay you any mind.

i asked my bed to swallow me for a few days

and she said no, she gets more than enough of my company on the nightly. i so rarely am the first to disengage from an embrace; why should this be an exception? i can hardly blame the blankets for desiring some couple-time. we don’t know how hard we cling until we see white knuckles and balky glances.

of course my bedspread is chaotic. don’t tell me you expected anything different?

via PhotoToaster