I’m a little sad.
That’s a lie. I’m more than a little sad.
I have eight pillows. But, I only sleep with three or four of them. Well, that’s a lie. Sometimes I accidentally fall asleep sitting up in the arms of my boyfriend pillow. That’s actually what it’s called. I always thought it was called a reading pillow, but, turns out that as has been the case in so many instances where I thought I knew what something was and what it was called – I was wrong.
When it’s time to go to sleep on purpose, I put aside most of the pillows, and carefully place the one on which my head rests, and line the left side of my bed – between me and the wall – with three (or, sometimes just two) of the other feathery ones, some of which I sometimes toss and turn myself into during the night, grabbing them, wrapping myself around them or them around me.
This is recent. A feature of the past few years. Prior to that I slept like a corpse – literally – flat on my back, hands folded across my chest.
Now, I don’t sleep so well. My bed – which used to be a safe haven and welcome hiding place – has become a sort of taunt now. I’ve never been that lucky in bed, except, I was a pretty good sleeper, who didn’t require a lot of sleep and managed to keep going on very little rest. Now, it seems, I am exhausted all the time and no matter how much I sleep I am still tired. The other day I fell asleep at Starbucks. I often fall asleep driving. I am just really, really tired.
Today wasn’t a very good day. And, here’s the thing; I can’t explain it. I mean – I could explain it, but, you see, my life has become this thing about which no one really knows anything, and, better – in lots of ways – they don’t, and so, while I could describe in exquisitely painful and minute detail what happened to make me sad, I can’t really.
Here’s the thing – generalized. I’ve never been all that. I was never pretty. My skin was always bad, broke out from about age ten to late-twenties. My teeth were (are) crooked and never had braces because when I was young my Mom decided that the braces my brother had had did no good, so she rejected the idea I should have them. Now, granted, my brother’s teeth did not actually lie over one another as do mine. Too, when my Mom was pregnant with me, she signed an agreement to use an experimental antibiotic, the result of which was the permanent discoloration of my teeth. And then there’s my body, which has never been great, even when I went to the gym every day (like I do now) the most I could hope for – or – could achieve – was that I didn’t sag or bulge. And let’s just say that I’m not porn star material either.
Only one man to whom I was attracted was ever actually attracted to me and his deal was that no one could know because he didn’t want to be gay. So, it was all a secret. I have repeatedly been drawn to – well – it doesn’t matter, except that my taste has always been abysmal. I have – time and again – bared my soul to people who turned out to be unworthy of such trust.
And I have managed of late – without anyone but me knowing – to make another colossal error in judgment – an error I made WHILE ACTIVELY HAVING DECIDED NOT TO SHARE OR BARE MY SOUL – I thought, “Well, that hasn’t worked out so well, so why bother?”
I mean, FOREVER, I waited for someone to love me for who I was, for the beauty of my soul, for my intellect, for some Wuthering Heights inevitable sort of love, something from a musical sort of something – and – well, no. I am not saying I deserved to be loved that way, or that I didn’t bring all this on myself.
But, really? I see perfectly HORRIFIC people – morals and intellect challenged – cruel, unkind, thoughtless, selfish people – managing to find love. I just find it hard to believe that I suck as much as experience seems to indicate I do.
And so, I am a little sad.
That’s a lie.
I am a lot sad. And the way things are going, I’m betting this boyfriend pillow is going to grow legs and walk any moment.