Pillow Talk

Color me sidetracked by the pillow.

My mind has been engulfed in pillow talk.

There was a time in my life when these two words side by side meant something entirely different (Pillow talk is the relaxed, intimate conversation that often occurs between two sexual partners after the act of coitus, usually accompanied by cuddling, caresses, and other physical intimacy. Wikipedia)

Vive la old Pillow Talk.

Say “Bonjour” to the rocking the pillows on your sofa, bed or chair kind of pillow talk.

Good old me has almost made a career out of trying to find the perfect pillows to put on my bed in my own room and on a sofa bed in my second bedroom.

This obsession started in July.

They call it Apartment Therapy.

Apartment Therapy is a page “I like” on Facebook, and it is probably very harmless in the right hands.

But not in my hands.

My hands are blistered from cleaning with far too much bleach.

Why?

Because I have become crazed, addicted and all-consumed with the Motherf@#KING perfection of Apartment Therapy.com.

FUCK THEM. (My new mantra for almost everything in my life) which really translates into: I care about these matters with all my heart and soul, cross my heart and hope to die.

Sorry for digressing, let’s get back to Apartment Therapy where they make everything about cleaning and decorating look so effortless.

And so I get up in the morning (some people call it late afternoon) and I start to play with pillows and I don’t do that right and so I dust and then I bleach the bathroom and the kitchen floor, and wonder why my refrigerator smells, and then I take a load of laundry down to the Laundromat in my building’s basement, and wonder if I will ever fall in love again and I am certain no man will ever want me because of my chronic depression and dirty hair that perfectly matches my dirty apartment) which I swear will never go away, and that is the REAL REASON why I can’t BLOG on a regular basis, and how can an apartment that has been sprayed 7 times in the last year still accommodate bedbugs (FUCK those little Motherf@#kers).In Psychology, this is what is called monkey brain or brain chatter……

Brain chatter: MENTAL noise is the constant CHATTER of the MIND that never stops. It is the inner conversation or inner monologue that goes on constantly in the MIND.

Like the song goes: I got it bad and that ain’t good.

Mind chatter is the worst at night.

Your weary body climbs into bed and as soon as your head hits the pillow your brain lights up like a Broadway marquis.  

No use counting sheep.

No use wondering what could have been.

No use counting backwards from a million.

This is the way the monkey brain goes round and round.

How many days can a crazy woman go without sleep?

How many roses are covered with dew? ….hahaha

You get up and open your bureau drawer and count out the tiny little pills in the palm of your hand.

Then I ask myself permission: If I take an extra pill tonight, will my prescription run out before the end of the month?

Do I dare?

Maybe, just this one time.

I put the pill back in the bottle and secure the safety cap.

My monkey brain tells me no man is going to fall in love with a woman who’s a pill popper.

Monkey brain knows a man wants only perfect women.

Like the women who live in Apartment Therapy.com
You know, the kind of a woman who tosses pillows……PERFECTLY ….. and EFFORTLESSLY.