April 22, 2006

i'm supposed to be working

I have a shitload of work to do. For my Canadian friends, allow me to translate: It's a busy time, eh?

And it's not so much that I can't do the work, but that I seem to be unable to actually get the work done........ because I keep falling asleep.

It's not me, really. It's my bed. The problem is my bed. (she said.)

There's a certain point with this old king-sized mattress sandwich that I'm completely unable to resist. It's when the sheets are just about ready to be changed, and they're all crinkled and rumpled and askew, and I haven't made the bed in days, and the pillows are every which place, and my laptop and canvas SXSW bag that now contains too many items I need to address are at the foot of the bed, and what am I supposed to do? Ignore it?

The strange thing is that I have always adored a well made bed dressed in textures and layers, pressed cotton sheets with tight seamed corners. Oh!

But now? This is not my beautiful bed.

This new era Jeneane can't resist burrowing down into a mis-made, half-assed, crumpled-up, laundry-imminent, unmade bed. Taking an all-akimbo, acid-washed two-hour nap. Say my prayer of thanks for having a fine roof (even if it leaks) over my fine head (even if its roots are showing) in a fine room (even if it's a disaster) in my fine house (even if it's in disrepair) on this fine, fine, fine (low-end) king-size bed.

I find it ir-fucking-resistible.

So what am I supposed to do?

George says: "You know, you could work at your desk."

Sure, but where would I sleep?

[[Breaking News: Amyloo corrects my usage -- suggests the right word is "irre-fucking-sistible". I stand by my mashup: "ir-fucking-resistible" for two reasons--1) it uses a first-syllable break, and 2) sistible's not a word. We are writing ourselves into ex-fucking-istence over here. Let's get it right. You are welcome to weigh in on the matter in comments.]]

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