Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I slid my bed back into the single size. Now it looks as inviting as a nun's cot.
Which is fitting being as I haven't had sex in four years.
Which is sad because four years ago I was on such a roll - a sex roll - and I thought those good times were here to stay.
As the sexual drought moved in I comforted myself by thinking it was good I had no men to distract me from the tasks of writing a book and finding a job. Now that those tasks have been accomplished, the universe could throw a man or two my way. I'm ready. Actually that's not true. I could care less about racking up sexual partners - I've had opportunities for that over the last four years - old gringos and young mexicanos. I'm more interested in something long-term, something lasting or semi-lasting.
Some may say that returning my bed to a size barely big enough for one shuts the door on "calling in the one" but I beg to differ. My man monsoon happened spontaneously with the bed in its narrowed manifestation (during monsoon season, I might add) and so I'm willing to test that particular law of attraction theory.
After six years of the luxury of a double bed it took a couple nights to adjust to my new berth. I kept banging my elbows on the wall. I would wake whenever I needed to roll over because I was afraid I'd fall out. When I'd fling out my leg it'd dangle off the side of the bed. But now that I'm used to it, I don't mind the narrowness and I love the added space. I have room for a yoga mat to be laid out on the floor. I can get to the overhead cabinets without standing on the bed. It's nice. And if someone comes along who is worth opening the bed to the double size, that'll be nice too.