Soundtrack: Her Town Too by James Taylor and Bryon McSouthers

Link: Flower and Willow


This entry is rated R. I'm slightly on the intimate side here. I've never done that before. Consider yourself warned.

It's just about 6am and I still haven't gone to sleep. It's been like this for over a week now. I either sleep like the dead for twelve hours, or I don't sleep at all. I'm tired and sleepy, but when I lie down and shut my eyes, I can't stop whatever it is that happens to be on my mind from playing like a bad B-movie on the screen ofmy eyelids.

So it's better to get up and do something and stay busy. Use the time, cuddle the cats, look up information on Hyderabad (a city in the heart of India where a very good friend of mine now lives), ponder the sewing machine (turn around again -- the sight of thing still makes me want to hurl), tweak the websites, pace around the living room thinking about how and why my life got so off-track.

Outside the sky has turned pale and the birds in the tree under the window have woken up. The cats eye them with guarded intent, but they are too sleepy to even rattle their teeth at the avians. They curl up, nose to tail on every available surface. Mostly on top of the keyboard until I shove them off into sabs' computer chair.

sabs is asleep in the big bed, snoring away, blissfully ignorant of the trials of the insomniac. sabs never has trouble falling asleep. In fact, he falls asleep very quickly -- in about 30 seconds flat. It takes me half an hour just to be calm enough to sleep. Maybe it's just that I don't want to miss a thing.

Bah. None of this is anything that I was actually going to write about. I had a lot of things on my mind this week that I was going to write about. I had the graphics all planned out and the titles picked. Now I can't remember a single thing about those nifty topics I was going to write about at all. Not a drop. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Instead I'm running through my reactions to Iko's Flower & Willow and taking yet another long trip down memory lane. There's just something about hearing other people's stories that puts me in a confessional mode. When other people spill their beans, I feel and almost compulsive need to spill mine too. Poor Iko will have an enormously long email from me in her box by now. Dashed off on the spur of the moment, an off the cuff, extremely lengthy account of my path along the road to lust and love.

But maybe it was important to finally get it out. Maybe, just maybe I'll actually have the guts to put it up somewhere. Not here -- it's not really the right place for it. But it's got a place in the web of my life, so I might as well hook it up to all of the other pretty pieces that I've got on display.

Earlier tonight, as I lay naked and laughing beside a very puzzled sabs, the thoughtfulness about desire that I'm having right now would probably have come in useful. For some reason, the expression on his face, as we tried to create a tender moment between the sheets kept appearing comical to me and the laughter just kept boiling right out of me.

He blushed of course, but wound up laughing with me as the whole thing just spiraled out of control into a total laugh-fest. Kind of like at a slumber party when the talk has gotten all serious and suddenly someone throws a pillow.

Later on after the giggles had finally died out and we lay wound around each other, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, I couldn't stop thinking about why I'd been laughing.

Even later, after he'd turned the light out and his regular breathing (and snoring) rose up into the night air beside me, my eyes were fixed on the lightly phosphorescent ceiling far above. Restless and utterly un-sleepy I got up and came in here to find information on Hyderabad.

Now it's 6:30am, well past dawn and I'm bone-tired, aching for sleep. Mephisto is sound asleep, little cat nose to little cat tail in sabs' chair and I can still here sabs snoring away in the next room.

And I still can't figure out what the sam hill was so funny.

6.01.99 | narrative | mail | 7.7.99

little owl