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Women are biologically designed to wake more easily to high-pitched sounds like the shrill cry of a baby. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.

         When people ask me, “How do you and Rane do it?” I often attribute our being in a relationship for so long to patience, but it’s really something else. Yes, all relationships, functioning or not so, require patience, among countless other qualities from both parties such as trust and honesty, forgiveness, sympathy, and unwavering love and respect for the other, but what about freedom?

         It was charming at first—flattering, even—how territorial he was. His overbearing nature made me feel safe and worthy, like I was something precious to be protected. But then I noticed that Rane’s friends never addressed me directly but rather spoke to me through him, as though to ask my keeper for permission, and then my friends began to distance themselves, eventually abandoning me all together. But who could blame them though? I had made my choice clear.

         I finally had what I’d wanted for so many years, someone to hold me at night, to call my own. I didn’t date much before Rane, so it still baffles me just how eager we were to move in together. Just a couple of months after we made things “official,” he changed his mailing address to mine, and shortly after, he brought over his mattress. I remember slowly making the bed, hoping he’d open the door and shout, “Stop!” I fluffed the pillow and smoothed the sheet. I’m stuck, I thought. There’s no getting rid of him now.

         How silly it seems now. Surely I could have said something. I don’t know why I didn’t.

 

         I haven’t been sleeping well since I asked him to leave. His whimpers wake me in the night. 

I hate when someone ends a sentence in “so….” Girls trying to dodge responsibility are often the culprit.

“I didn’t vote for Obama, so….”

“It was just the tip, so….”

*Duck face!*

I also hate the phrase, “Everybody poops,” because I am then left with the nauseating image of my overweight, hairy, sweaty, Italian neighbor who insists on mowing his lawn shirtless struggling to pinch a loaf. Or Garry Busey. And all of his teeth. On the can.

But my brain recently one-upped itself. My alarm had just gone off, but I wasn’t quite ready to get out of bed. I didn’t want to fall back asleep either, so I got to thinking. Brain said, Hey. Let’s play a game.

No, Brain. Last time we played one of your games, I saw Gary Busey taking a dump.

Nah, it’s different this time. You’ll like this game, I promise.

Fine… fine. What’s it called?

The game’s called… Everybody Masturbates!

I have to write a poem for my creative writing class, which I am so far thoroughly disappointed in. Leslie, the instructor, is probably only a few years older than me and has a tattoo of a ink well and quill on the top of her wrist. I want to bite it. Rate My Professor promised she’d be hot. Her legs are, but Leslie is not.

I miss being single. There. I said it. I’m good at not sharing the bed or shaving my legs and peeing with the bathroom door open. When you’re not home, I sleep diagonally and let my hair grow wild and pee with the goddam door open.

Will you take the bed when things end, and if so, where will I sleep?

I felt small yet great.
I felt insignificant yet hopeful.
I felt inferior yet vital.
Before me, a desert plain so full of life
Said to me, Shut the fuck up. You’re not that important.
Said to me, You’re problems aren’t as glaring as they seem.
Said to me, Though fogged, the horizon is still there.
In it’s body, I cleansed.

I’ve gotten off track, like in the video games when Mario drives off a cliff and into the deep, blue, pixelated sea. He doesn’t drown though. Some force- some… higher being- replaces Mario’s kart in the race, and he resumes dodging banana peels. Thankfully, I know how to swim.

Sometimes what you accomplish isn’t what you set out to do. Earlier today I detailed a very specific list of things to do, and though I didn’t do all of those things, I did get up off my ass. Tomorrow I’ll so the same. I’ll do the things I didn’t so today and more. Tomorrow.

I’m usually able to make it through a day pain-free. No chronic this or incurable that. No allergies, no tumors, no ulcers, no toothaches, no carpel tunnel, no flat feet, no Charlie horses, no wandering eye, no bowed legs, no arthritis, no gingivitis, no smoker’s cough, no glaucoma, no lock jaw, no nothing. The occasional headache here and there but aside from that, I’m remarkably comfortable. I’ve never broken a bone, never had an operation performed. I once got stung by a bumble bee but not by a jellyfish, thank goodness.

So I have no reason to complain. But my right knee hurts, so does my left wrist, and I got a kink in my neck.

That is all.