my kind's your kind
i think it's generally well known that i love my bed.
any bed, really, so long as there's access to a foam pillow and a blanket. i've reached the conclusion that i probably spend far too much time in my bed, reading, eating [yes, horrible, i know], making monkeys, talking, day dreaming- just about everything.
perhaps, then, it should come as no surprise that one of my least favourite things in the world to do is to wake a person up. waking up not only involves being yanked from dreams, warmth and rest, but also necessitates the removal of one's self from bed. it always seems so violent- and sometimes it is.
however, sometimes it's also entirely necessary.
this morning, when i crept into my old bedroom-turned-guest-room to wake up zach after our half-godfatherathon, he jumped so far off the bed when i woke him that i think it took three years off of my life, not to mention a layer of skin from my hand where the hot coffee i was walking around with scalded my skin.
note to self- give up on waking people up. the power of the bed is obviously superior.