Saturday, April 2, 2011

1000 Words

I have a book in storage in Ca that I am so bummed I can't get to right now. Here are some pics of it. 

I ran across yet another MacJournal entry yesterday that was a writing exercise from the last image. You basically use the images to kick your creative writer into gear.  Here is what I wrote. It was really cool to revisit my old entries. Definitely puts me in the mood to scratch the paper.

The lamp on the night stand illuminated the crumpled pillows and scattered sheets. She had crawled into bed with him and and wrapped her arms around his tight waist. She loved to run her fingers along the muscles in his abdomen. But now the bed was empty. Covers kicked back in frustration or was it lust. His pillow laid out flatly across the bed while hers lay in  a crumpled mass where she had hugged it tightly to her when she turned from him. Why do I always end up here?  Always dark and lonely. Maybe it is time for a new story. Maybe they are on the floor sitting against the bed naked before one another doing there best to be as naked emotionally as they are physically.  Maybe they are on the floor making love for the first time. Maybe they are on the shower getting ready to make their 5 am flight home from a restful week in Paris. The lights are on and the room would be dark if not the lamps kissing the pillow from either side of the bed.  The hotel room is quiet except for the shower running. She sits on the edge of the sink plucking her eyebrows as he  lathers up. Pluck, pluck  pluck. She rubs the space between her eyes as tears sting the corners. Sometimes it is so not fun to be a girl. A woman, I am now a woman. Pluck, pluck pluck. She climbs down from the bathroom counter and turns to look at the empty bed. Can’t we just crawl back in? The pillows soft against her head. The covers warm against her back. She longs to hide in there with him forever. She walks slowly from the bathroom and stands at the bottom edge of the bed her shadow cast along the kicked back covers. She hears the water stop as the faucet handle creaks in his hand. The snap of the towel off the rack makes her jump. She turns toward the door where steam rises from the crack at the floor and she sinks down to her knees and leans against the unmade bed waiting for him to return. I don’t want to leave she cries in her own head. i don’t want the bed to be empty any more. I want there to be happy loving couples curled up underneath the covers.  I want there to be deliciously spent couples sprawled across the the top of the sheets now damp with sweat.  I want there to be couples in jammies with kitties purring at their feet. Empty beds make me sad. Empty beds make me feel empty.  Empty beds don’t seem safe and beds should be safe places.  

The alarm went off and it was still way too dark out for it to be reasonable to be awake. But this was the first day of the rest of their lives together. The wedding had been a dream. Or had it really happened? Oh yes it was real Kate just hadn’t gotten enough sleep in between the wedding and the alarm to get any distance to remember. His pillow made it look like he hadn’t even moved once he fell asleep while hers looked like she wrestled with it all night. The covers had been kicked off early in the evening and remained in a tangle on the floor. All that remained was the sheet that had barely covered them as they slept and dreamt of what the new day would bring. The new day brought a 4:30 am wake up call and a 10 minute snooze they really couldn’t afford. Now the bed lay empty as they shared a shower in an effort to make up some time. Well maybe that wasn’t all they were making up for as they were now more late than ever. Both bedside lamps had been flipped into action as the panic of missing their flight to Paris became a realization if there were to be any more lounging. Most hotel beds don’t compare to your own anyway so why would you want to waste your time, but these were different. Soft, plush, warm and cool all at the same time. And best of all they were finally together in one. Bed. 

I write what I know best and these days i am an expert in solo sleeping. Solo sleeping is where one side of the bed barely even show signs of wear. One pillow is still plump and perfect while the other is crushed and balled up. Not a wrinkle in the sheets on that side of the bed. Well maybe this time there are. Must have been a restless night. Restless dreams. Restless feet. Restless feelings.  Must have been a muggy night as the comforter has been kicked to the floor. All that remains are the sheets in a tangle. Just enough to cover but not enough to restrict.Why do hotels always have all white linens. o h I get it for laundry purposes and all but you would think they could come up with something a little more aesthetically pleasing and just take the time to wash them with a little more care. i am sure they would feel justified in charging a bit more but wouldn’t it be worth it. To be surrounded by a cloud of pale blue. So soothing and  calming. Or the palest of pinks. I just know I would have lovely dreams if I were floating in a haven of pink all night. I can even feel the pink against my skin, against my cheeks and it feels sweeter than white. White is lovely but it just isn’t as soft as pink. And beds should by all means be soft.  It must be summer as the covers are all jumbled up on the bed. In winter, I get under the covers and curl up in a small sized ball and i don’t think I even move during the night. I try to stay as curled up as possible to keep all my body heat in a confined and well determined area. it wasn’t always so. When I was married there was nothing better then gluing myself to my husband’s side though a cold winter night. Mostly because he would want to sleep with a window open for the cool night air. Since he was always warm I had my own personal space heater to sleep with. i am quite sure having me stuck to every inch of his side only made him hotter which makes the open window make a lot more sense now.  Hmmm who knew. i wonder if it really was the cold or the fact that I never felt like i could get close enough to him. Maybe a little bit of both. many a night of our marriage was spent in a white hotel bed. not always together and not always alone. 

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