Welcome To My Bed

Small bits of stuff.

New places always make me feel at ease for some reason, maybe because making first impressions is something I've always been intrigued by. And if I put my mind to it, people end up remembering me.

Last night was a flashback to two years ago almost, but it felt like Massachusetts, passing an ashtray around the room and arguing about whether Kanye West should beat out 50 Cent for best pop rapper. Discussions about the alternative merits of either "bounce" or "pop" are much more entertaining than they should be. And somehow, in a house full of people that I didn't know hours before, save for three of them, I felt at ease.

This feeling has me thinking that I'm predisposed to travel the world. If I can find a little gem of happiness among all the things that disillusion me about being back here, it can't be all that bad. Granted, I spend most of my time missing warmer and less lonely places to sleep, wishing we could all have Christmas together where we belong and not have to scatter to our points of origin. In my perfect world, my family wouldn't be able to guilt me into coming home for the holidays.

At the house we were at last night, somewhere in North Bergen on the border of Union City, I could tell one of the guys was interested in me. In a room full of loud and interesting, he kept making a point to talk to me. I think the way you can tell if you're in a good relationship is how you react to things like this. And I can honestly say that I thought he was nice and all, but I had absolutely no thoughts on him beyond that. He was attractive and funny, but ever since finding my intermediate perfection, I only have eyes for him. I can appreciate that other people are attractive, or that something may have gone on if I wasn't otherwise engaged, but after that, nothing. I feel so safe with what I have waiting for me when I get out of here again. Maybe that's what keeps me from caring at all that there are other people of the opposite sex in the world.

First meetings, reuniting, and being frank. These are some of the few things this place is good for. Besides diners of course. We are never at a loss for diners. Or things to cloud my head with so I can fall asleep and stay that way instead of tossing and turning and wishing I as lying next to the only person I want to share a bed with anymore. Those are always a blessing, because I could never sleep in this house as it is, and it's only gotten worse since I found something better than an electric blanket to keep me safe and warm.

I miss Connecticut. And Amherst. Wiry hair and a line from James Joyce, a week is too long to wait.