breathe, dip into the water and go under it all and hold yourself alone

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

The cloud.

Jeremy bought a loft bed that he found on Craig's list.
I went with him to meet the couple selling it. They were nice people.
They had a very well behaved, sweet little boy and also a baby.
They were moving away and they couldn't take the loft with them.
So we took it, and gave them four hundred bucks.
Which was a deal, because they let us have the Temperpedic mattress on it.
Which is valuable and extremely comfy.
I loved the old bed though. The old bed was comfy too.
The mattress wasn't fancy but it was lovely anyhow.
Perfectly poofy, just perfect. Firm enough. Oh I miss the old bed.
There was nothing wrong with the old bed.
But he wanted to free up space on the floor, raise the bed up high.

But it goes too high!
There's like a foot of room between the bed and the ceiling
and it's the fucking flaky kind of ceiling. It's like, stucco.
I climb up the ladder and when I get to the bed
I try to crawl on,
but if I arch my back too much it hits the ceiling
and flakes go flying everywhere.

So I have to slither like a goddamned snake once I get to the bed
just to avoid the ceiling.
If Jeremy is up there, the ladder leads me right to his feet,
his feet are right in my face,
and he's gotta move em
but if he raises his knees too high, oh, big surprise,
he'll hit the fucking ceiling and make more confetti fall down everywhere.
We try to brush the flakes offa the bed but they overwhelm us
and we just end up sleeping in the flakes
and throughout the day when we are out
I see Jeremy's got little flakes in his eyebrows and under his eyes and in his hair
and it's ridiculous. HONESTLY. And last night, we were up there
and the whole fricking loft was shaking he was fingerbanging me so furiously
(and I must say, it was excellent, pure brilliance,
I was out of my mind with delight)
and I flailed my arm without thinking and
OH BIG SURPRISE I SPRAYED HIM WITH CEILING MIST.

It's a problem but he doesn't seem to think so,
he loves the loft and he calls it "the cloud".
The cloud. Like it's a little piece of heaven.
It's a fucking flaky cramped hell up there if anybody wants my opinion
but the mattress is very very very comfy
and the sheets are silky and you know
I guess I'll just get used to it. I must.
He moves around carefully
and I'm supposed to do the same
to keep from brushing up against the ceiling, he claims it's easy and fine
and when I mess up and flakes go everywhere he scoffs at me like I'm a klutz.
Sometimes when I watch him squirming onto the bed
I can't help but laugh like a maniac at how silly it all is and he asks me, "What?"
all innocently but I only laugh at him harder
and he just shakes his head and tries to be serious.

It's actually very serious. Does he have any brains at all?
This is a completely retarded situation.
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"Are you becoming what you always hated?" --- Charles Bukowski