One of the questions that seems to have stuck to my memory board in the back of my head was what I considered to be my biggest luxury in life. After pondering for a few minutes, I went over the list that wasn’t filled with sexual exploits, words that sounded like I was seeking permission to blow him against his will and sounded authentic and downright me.
Something of which I am starting to discover after a few attempted first dates that have led me to writing a post about them while contemplating a second one on an alien from outer space; is starting become somewhat more difficult and less interesting. Guess it also stems from the fact that most of these guys that I am talking to appear like they are genuine and all of a sudden think I’m a DOTE girl who is RTF.
As for those who aren’t in the dating stream or haven’t read the back pages of your local dating columns, something of which I am guilty and absolutely love doing, the following sentence stands for: down to earth girl who is ready to f*ck. These are just some of the things you pick when reading that particular part of the news paper and seeing what the opposite sex are looking for when it comes to women and men.
It was in that moment of trying to figure it all out, the images of freshly washed cotton sheets in the crispest white, tumbling soft almost like cashmere mink blankets and the faint scent of laundry powder came to mind. The memory of writing about how I find indulgence in the simplest act of sneaking another fifteen minutes of sleep, seeking that one comfortable position for my pillow and writing endless posts on life and nursing had me responding as to what my biggest and yet, simplest luxury in life was.
“A lazy Sunday morning in bed.”
I can assure you that this guy automatically presumed that the world of online dating extended from my phone and into the empty space right next door to me. In a way, it was somewhat flattering in a psychological questioning way that this guy thought my private and undisclosed vagina was worthy of being flashed and ‘pounded’.
However, his thoughts were squashed to nothing but dust when I stated that the empty space next to me would not be filled by the current person and that indeed, my black waist height, stomach defying world over grandma panties would be barricading said entry way.
Least to say, Justin Timberlake certainly did not cry me a river that night.
Although having said that, my ideal luxury in life (at the moment) is the security of white cotton sheets, endless amounts of fluffy soft blankets alongside the smell of laundry detergent. In a way, it really did get me thinking as to why I spend a minimum of four hours on a Sunday morning, in bed. Is it because I have the deluded thought of my coffee mysteriously appearing via a portal coffee link or I haven’t just harnessed that telepathic link to someone that says: coffee. stat.?
Whatever the main logic behind my need and desire for peace and that faint whisperings of silence, I love spending Sunday mornings in bed and preferably by myself.
Yes, some may consider this brief period of time to be incredibly selfish, positively outrageous and somewhat heinous and yes, I do agree with you on all of those points of interest and so many more. However at the same time, I disagree with your points of thoughts and it simply boils down to the insatiable need for silence.
Both in my outside world and within the world that is predominately my brain.
It has taken me four years. Four very long, incredibly hard and completely mind draining years to be able to have this moment where I can simply flick a switch in my brain and simply bathe in the silence that comes with flicking this switch. As someone who suffers from extreme bouts of depression, insomnia and not to mention, questionable cases of severe anxiety over the most simplest thing; I picked a field of interest that doesn’t cater to those diagnostic illnesses and instead, fuels that ammunition that creates more side effects and severe drops in mood and mental well being.
So as you can imagine living in a world that is constantly moving as it never sleeps or believes in taking a sick day or a break to restore and replenish, is constantly trying to suffocate you with political bullsh*t and endless chops and changes to regime while trying to cope with the endless kaleidoscope of patient cases. The same person, in some cases, who was admitted only two days ago and we know that the education we shall provide will not be thought of but merely allowed to flutter through their ears.
After all of this and so much more that I am not putting into words, you can only imagine why this is the reason as to why, I love a lazy Sunday in bed.
Until next time,