Maybe I could just stay here in this stripey sheet-cocoon where I think about nothing but the tips of my fingers and my own breathing. If you concentrate hard enough on not concentrating on anything, the weightlessness can take over.
Sometimes weekends are for fun, but sometimes weekends are for mending.
I like New York because you can order any kind of food and have it delivered. One phone call, and someone will bring waffles and a pistachio milkshake right to you door-- or to your boyfriend’s door-- and you can even pay with a credit card.
But sometimes not even that is enough. Not waffles or two naps or even a pomegranate present from your boy’s football-beer-run.
And now I’ve ended up, head-under-covers, hiding from the world, thankful for the sounds of his typing, and only to be lured out by the promise of sandwiches.