Kis kadar yeh haseen yeh khayaal mila hai.. rah mein ek reshmi rumaal mila hai..

I love my bed.

I like leaping out of it in the morning, ready to check my email, read my news, turn on the tele, look up the weather, do my Sudoku, wash my hair, wear red plaid skirts with long black blouses tall red boots homemade glass bead earrings and long black coats, put my funky dj headphones on and head out to life. I like walking briskly over city sidewalks littered with Fall leaves. Sitting in the train looking out the window thinking over last night's dreams of killer fava beans and email lists. I don't like boring classes full of techno-speak and arguing with bald wrestler-type professors over syntax and convention. I like walking with my friends to UBurger for lunch and laughing the entire way. I like it when the chap behind the counter yells out "Hot Chick!" when my order is up. I don't like sitting through an hour and a half of income tax preparation but I do enjoy reading an annual report to "look for the sleaze in the company". I like running from one meeting to another being productive and important and loud with my tall red boots resounding on the tiled floor. I do enjoy evaluating media campaigns and coming up with them. I like the Dew Dudes. I used to like Fido Dido too. I like walking briskly in the windy wind with my skirt lapping at my calves. I like egg rolls immensely. I don't like the spaghetti in my head. I like coming home to a clean room and feeling glad about being single so no one can ruin the serene calmness of my space. I like it when the girls take the trash out so I don't have to walk back down two flights of stairs and back up again. I like my crisp sheets and the smell of incense filling up my sleepy nostrils. I like how you keep coming back to my blog. First thing in the morning, twice again during the day and then when you're home from work. And then you come back again later in the evening. But you don't spend much time on it. Almost as if you're disappointed at the content. Not good enough you're saying to yourself. Random news articles again. Some mundane shit. But nothing I can really sink my teeth into. Oh yes, I can hear you. Your clicks say a lot to me. I can read clicks, I can. If I could expostulate (if expostulate is the word I want) this talent into reading tea leaves perhaps I could make five bucks from every passerby who wants her fortune read. No wait. I don't have any purple skirts or silver jewellery. I do like making my own jewellery. I like lying here in bed anticipating sleep. Stretching my legs out and owning the double feng shueiness of my mattress. I like the excitement of loading my Gmail looking for email from you. I don't like being disappointed when I find there is none. Sometimes I wonder about you. I don't like looking in the mirror and finding out that somehow age and all those bad food choices have caught up with me. I try not to look in the mirror. It's not a pretty sight. There's a strange non-pimple bump on my cleavage. Or is that in my cleavage? It won't go away. Mars the landscape so to speak. I like my white wispy curtains. I should watch Munich and return it to the good folks at Netflix so they can pass it on to some other deserving poor. I like my wind chimes hanging by my bed. Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night to go pee I tinkle them before I go back to sleep. I like how when I get home and let my hair down it curls softly at my neck. I like combing them through. I don't like lying in bed waiting for sleep. Tossing and turning and not finding it. I don't like the loneliness that inevitably accompanies insomnia. I don't like getting out of bed at 3 am to read a case that I don't understand because my mind is tired but my body won't cooperate. Or sometimes it's the other way around.

But I do love my bed.