hot hot hot
i’m someone who even in the dead of winter, or say, in temperatures like this evening, likes a window open. i rarely use my heat. i rarely light the fire. i like it cold. i want to snuggle down in the down of the comforter and hibernate until morning, er, early afternoon.
so mikey’s sick and won’t let me open the window and in this stagnant air, i’m suffocating. i can just feel the stale air growing more stale and between the blankets on the bed and the pooch curled up beside me and mikey projecting his bacteria plagued body heat and hot sore-throaty breath all up on me, i have to get out. i need fresh clean, cold air. it’s so dry in here, it’s like a sun lamp, it’s like sand paper and fresh sawdust.
i had to toss the pooch off the bed (although i felt bad because last night i had a dream that she was bleeding to death), push mikey to the other side of the bed, and throw off the covers and move on out to the sofa. i just wish i wasn’t so goddamn cuddly.
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