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bethofalltrades at 05:27am on 08/12/2008 under balance, cuddling, human contact, new york city, resolutions, sharing a bed, touch
bethofalltrades at 05:27am on 08/12/2008 under balance, cuddling, human contact, new york city, resolutions, sharing a bed, touchIt occurs to me that, for optimum mental health, I require a very precise dosage of New York City. Not too much-- a solid month without at least a day or two away starts to grate. Not too little-- I've had the better part of a month away from her and it starts to ache.
The stir crazy of being trapped in the concrete chaos is more noticable to the outside world. The ache just undermines the foundation. Just.
I am on a greyhound bus, careening home. Sure, we saw each other over Thanksgiving. I even spent a few days around Amanda's show sleeping in my own bed. But never alone.
I've never been the sort of person who needed space or alone time. I lept into relationships that were 24/7, practically feeding off the togetherness. Any of the women who've recently (or ever) shared my bed can testify that I don't cuddle. I cling. I envelope.
A month mostly absent from my city, sleeping on a tour bus, in hotels, on floors, in stangers beds, on couches (not matter how comfortable), often with company (no matter how pleasant) and I am four hours from New York and I can feel MY bed. I am having fantasies about sinking into it, curling up next to Cinderella and sleeping for days.
There is no one in this world that I wouldn't throw out of my bed today to have it all to myself. I never thought that would be the case, but no hot sex, no tender caress would change my mind. Go sleep in the hallway, Angelina. Maybe tomorrow.
When did this happen? Am I the same girl who invited friends over to sleep in her giant bed (really two, pushed together and covered with a feather comforter, a giant white raft that took up half my room) because she craved touch to an almost pathological degree? The same girl who had sex when what she really wanted was to hold someone? The same girl who considered having to share a bed with a stranger occasionally a job perk?
Part of me thinks I'm just getting older and more solitary. Its been a year since I shared a bed every night and I'm out of practice. Friends and gypsies playing the inside spoon is a novel distraction. I stopped being scared to sleep alone a long time ago. Waking up with another person is a certain kind of obligation. You have to be a real person immediately, rather than a stormy, growling thing grabbing at her blackberry.
The other part of me thinks I'm just ready for a break. Give me two or three nights sprawled across the entire bed and I'll start to coallese again and an empty space will form where a girl (or a gypsy) belongs. Give me three weeks in New York and I'll start to dream of bus bunks and couches and Not New York.
It's all balance. I have been since the summer, skipping like a flat stone across a pond from place to place, always off balance. I was the pendulum, always in motion, swinging from one extreme to the farthest reaches of the other (to paraphrase Sarah Kane.)
December and January. New Year's resolution. Balance.
Way better than last year's, which was "be less miserable.". Although I must say that one was a smashing success.
If I were an essayist I would craft this meandering entry into something keen and slicing that hit at the very heart of What's Important. But I am just a girl who writes in a journal stangers read, so you'll have to decipher the Meaning on your own.
Bed fast approaching.
Love,
Beth
The stir crazy of being trapped in the concrete chaos is more noticable to the outside world. The ache just undermines the foundation. Just.
I am on a greyhound bus, careening home. Sure, we saw each other over Thanksgiving. I even spent a few days around Amanda's show sleeping in my own bed. But never alone.
I've never been the sort of person who needed space or alone time. I lept into relationships that were 24/7, practically feeding off the togetherness. Any of the women who've recently (or ever) shared my bed can testify that I don't cuddle. I cling. I envelope.
A month mostly absent from my city, sleeping on a tour bus, in hotels, on floors, in stangers beds, on couches (not matter how comfortable), often with company (no matter how pleasant) and I am four hours from New York and I can feel MY bed. I am having fantasies about sinking into it, curling up next to Cinderella and sleeping for days.
There is no one in this world that I wouldn't throw out of my bed today to have it all to myself. I never thought that would be the case, but no hot sex, no tender caress would change my mind. Go sleep in the hallway, Angelina. Maybe tomorrow.
When did this happen? Am I the same girl who invited friends over to sleep in her giant bed (really two, pushed together and covered with a feather comforter, a giant white raft that took up half my room) because she craved touch to an almost pathological degree? The same girl who had sex when what she really wanted was to hold someone? The same girl who considered having to share a bed with a stranger occasionally a job perk?
Part of me thinks I'm just getting older and more solitary. Its been a year since I shared a bed every night and I'm out of practice. Friends and gypsies playing the inside spoon is a novel distraction. I stopped being scared to sleep alone a long time ago. Waking up with another person is a certain kind of obligation. You have to be a real person immediately, rather than a stormy, growling thing grabbing at her blackberry.
The other part of me thinks I'm just ready for a break. Give me two or three nights sprawled across the entire bed and I'll start to coallese again and an empty space will form where a girl (or a gypsy) belongs. Give me three weeks in New York and I'll start to dream of bus bunks and couches and Not New York.
It's all balance. I have been since the summer, skipping like a flat stone across a pond from place to place, always off balance. I was the pendulum, always in motion, swinging from one extreme to the farthest reaches of the other (to paraphrase Sarah Kane.)
December and January. New Year's resolution. Balance.
Way better than last year's, which was "be less miserable.". Although I must say that one was a smashing success.
If I were an essayist I would craft this meandering entry into something keen and slicing that hit at the very heart of What's Important. But I am just a girl who writes in a journal stangers read, so you'll have to decipher the Meaning on your own.
Bed fast approaching.
Love,
Beth
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