<\/p>\n
Waking up next to her, a body in the sheets, narrowed eyes watching
\nme, hair a halo behind her.<\/p>\n
There’s the ideal morning, though it doesn’t happen after Now, I wake up with a beautiful woman, and then share the Maybe we could still be youthful if it wasn’t for our That said, there’s always something amazing about waking up I’m very comfortable sharing my bed.\u00a0 I should relax and go with that.\u00a0 I should relax and go with lots of things, In the mornings, I’m always pleased with breakfast While breakfast isn’t a requirement, of course, because all The coffee test may well be why I’m still living alone.\u00a0 That and the 97% of my mind that stopped A girl once served me coffee so weak, you could see the I’m never very active in the mornings, unless I’m on the Disagreements, bad coffee, lies and pain.\u00a0 Love seems marked by
\nyour 25th<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 I don’t
\nmean to say that 31 is old but, let’s face it, certain things have begun to
\nfade.\u00a0 Falling down a hill is now panic
\ninducing and, no longer, is it a fun challenge.
\nDrinking deep into the night has consequences.\u00a0 I no longer wake up to the sound of birds
\nsinging with beautiful women beside me and decide to skip my 10am class so we
\ncan mingle together on the sheets and eat stolen bread from the cafeteria while
\nfinishing last night’s scotch.<\/p>\n
\nmutual agony of waking up. Gotta go to work.
\nOr, worse, the consuming need to make a day off and weekends useful in
\nsome way.\u00a0 Can’t lie here all day
\nbecause, firstly, I’m getting a strange sort of hospital bed headache and,
\nsecondly, these are the only two days where we can do anything because we both
\nwork 29 hours a day and, on Sunday, I want to be alone so I can cut my thighs
\nand swallow fistfuls of xanax.<\/p>\n
\njobs.\u00a0 Even on Saturday, if somebody
\nmentions working the next week, I sort of have a quick cut-my-thighs
\nmoment.\u00a0 Next week?!\u00a0 Oh god, you’re right.\u00a0 There will<\/em>
\nbe a next week.<\/p>\n
\nnext to a woman.\u00a0 I continually worry
\nthat it’ll disrupt my sleep patterns, but it never does.\u00a0 Therefore, I extend my manic Woody Allen-esque
\nworry and convince myself that I’m disrupting her sleep patterns and,
\ntherefore, imposing in some way.\u00a0 Any
\nimposition is, of course, grounds for dissolving the relationship and sending
\nme back to my treehouse where, once again, I have to cry myself to sleep and
\nclutch My Little Pony’s to my chest.
\nThere’s no calming me on fears like this because, apparently, I’m
\ninsane.<\/p>\n
\nactually.\u00a0 There’s a caveman sort of
\nwarmth I get from women.\u00a0 Skin on skin,
\nhair in my hands, the tangle of bodies at 3am when I wake up with the fear that
\nI’ve lost my arm and, screaming because I dreamed it had been cut off, I rip it
\nout from under her head and tearfully work the blood back into it while she
\nstares at me with a mixture of deep hatred and horror.\u00a0 Then, pulling myself together, assuming I’m
\nstill welcome in the bed, I love that early hour’s reconfiguration.\u00a0 Half waking, pulling bodies together, kissing
\nin our sleep.\u00a0 I always liked the
\nscissored legs, because I can think about her pussy with the 97% of my brain
\nthat stopped ageing on my 14th<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Overall, falling asleep with someone else’s
\nbody rhythm is more relaxing than the white noise of my cousin’s hamsters
\nmultiplying at an alarming rate in the house walls.<\/p>\n
\ngirls.\u00a0 I think the liberated woman’s
\ndark secret is that they like cooking breakfast and making coffee on a
\nlazy
\nSaturday.\u00a0 There’s a certain sort of
\nnostalgic charm.\u00a0 You can always trust a
\nbreakfast girl, but don’t be misled by continental breakfast
\ngirls.\u00a0 Here are some pastries!\u00a0 Here’s some thin, weak
\nFolgers instant
\ncoffee!\u00a0 That was a great night.<\/p>\n
\nI expect is cereal, coffee does define a woman.
\nHeavy, rich, imported, snooty coffee.
\nNot yuppie coffee.\u00a0 Upper class
\ncoffee.\u00a0 There’s a difference.\u00a0 There’s the coffee that the coffee houses
\nserve and then there’s the Nacho-standard, illegally imported Cuban coffee
\nreligiously brewed with purified water and a dash of spleen-burning love.\u00a0 Angry coffee.
\nConfusing.\u00a0 Sophisticated.\u00a0 Atomic. \u00a0Slightly beyond reality on a hot day and
\nbrutally violent on a cold day.\u00a0 A woman
\nis her coffee.<\/p>\n
\nmaturing.\u00a0 And the homicidal
\nschizophrenia, yes.<\/p>\n
\nbottom of the mug.\u00a0 She whipped it
\ntogether like it was a painful favor, using a filthy drip machine that had
\nancient coffee skin floating around in it.
\nYou know what that says?\u00a0 Get out
\nfor good.\u00a0 And I did.\u00a0 I have no hesitation leaving a woman because
\nof her coffee.\u00a0 I will tolerate bad
\nhabits, but I cannot tolerate weakness.<\/p>\n
\nroad.\u00a0 At home, I take about four hours
\nto finally put on clothes and do something.
\nOn the road, I set the alarm for six and I’m out by seven.\u00a0 For some reason, I can’t bring the two
\ntogether.\u00a0 Some women don’t understand
\nthis and become frustrated, I’ve found, when I sit there drinking coffee and
\nrefresh the Greatsociety Forums while darkly sneering out the window at all the
\nhappy people.\u00a0 The trick is, of course,
\nto just drag me out to an event.\u00a0 I’ll
\ncomplain and scream like a child but, once we hit the road, things get into the
\ngroove.\u00a0 This fault has ruined many
\nrelationships, oddly enough.\u00a0 Darling, if
\nyou want to do something, get proactive.<\/p>\n
\nthese things.\u00a0 I leave them, they leave me, and I think
\nabout all the lost time.\u00a0 A year gone for
\nsomeone who hates me now.\u00a0 But I never
\nregret the shared bed. The power that I seem to absorb.\u00a0 There,
\nafter the long night, each of us
\nwrapped together, sharing breath and space and dreams, a woman is at
\nher
\nweakest.\u00a0 A strange sort of expectation
\nseems to wash over her.\u00a0 Perhaps waiting
\nfor me to say the right thing?\u00a0 That, of
\ncourse, is wasted effort because I have no idea what to say besides
\n“Oh, god,
\nit’s morning again.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[352],"tags":[353,160],"class_list":["post-2518","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-gsarchive","tag-gs-archive-2004-2008","tag-women"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2518","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2518"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2518\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2716,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2518\/revisions\/2716"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2518"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2518"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2518"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}