OMG NO I DON'T SHARE BEDS

It's been quite some time since I've been in a relationship. Like a year. Or more. Whatever. A year and five months and twenty eight days. NOT THAT I'M COUNTING. 

Since I've been single for awhile, I'm not used to sharing a bed with others (not that I ever did, Grandma! Or ever do now after a night of drinking! Never!!). I have my special and very important sleepy time habits. I sleep with my computer (Computie, as I call him--others have blankets, I have a Mac.) My iPhone rests next to my head (hello brain cancer! Welcome to my dome). I spread my legs out far and wide, inviting to no one; just comfort. I have three pillows and the AC on and a down blanket covering half my body.

I stay up late, reading inane US Weekly articles and watching shows about death. I listen to my playlist entitled "Sad, Sleep, Die."

It's great. It was great.

Until it was broken.

UNTIL TONIGHT.

*   *   *  

Earlier this evening, my red-headed sister and I went to the ER so that I could get the zit/Staph infection/now cyst on my face checked out. All is mostly well--I just have to get it removed by a plastic surgeon next week. (I'm hoping he can also Botox my armpits so I can wear pastels again.) 

We came back to my lair a short while ago, and I fake pretended to volunteer to sleep on the couch, since Kristie sat with me at the ER and everything.

Much to my dismay, she took me up on the offer. 

Hiding my shock, I threw down the gauntlet and said "Fine, we can share the bed. It's too hot out here."

I was praying to her God that she'd change her mind, given my pus-filled face, FEVER, and general lack of hygiene.  But tonight, my sheets and I were both clean. I was out of luck.

I looked at the tiny bed before me and remembered my cardinal room against sleeping with Big Red.

I never, ever sleep with her for many reasons: mostly, it's because she's a mouth-breather and eats beans. (Damn her service/immersion trip to Ecuador!) She also makes weird grunting noises and occasionally snores. 

Plus, since Kristie's religious and has a close relationship with God, I have this fear that He is going to call on her in the middle of the night and appear in my window. This fear stems from this children's Bible that was read to me as a youth; in it, God straight up SHOWS UP in some dude's house to call him to part a Sea or something. No invite, nothing. He just comes. This scares the shit out of me. I mean, I'm all for G-O-D choosing Kristie as a Chosen Person, but not in my apartment! Can you imagine if God did come here? He'd probably tell me to clean my room and then render me infertile.

Anyway, on that fear alone, I would almost rather sleep in the street. But it's 90 degrees. Too hot to sleep in the un-air-conditioned living room. Too hot to sleep in the greenhouse in the front of our building, which I briefly considered. (Hey, it's nature.) And the hospital is too miserable to go back. They considered admitting me, but I had my blank, EMPTY bed at home to think of...which is now filled with Kristie's rapidly thinning frame. (DAMN HER DIET!!)

*   *   *  

I just crawled into bed.

She's asleep now. 

I've only heard a few weird noises. It doesn't smell of beans.

I'll be fine. 

(Note to Jesus: I'm watching you. Oh wait, no--you're watching me. PLEASE DON'T COME HERE. PLEASE DON'T SEND SANTA! "He sees you when you're sleeping"! AAHHH!)