(no subject)
i get jealous when i hear them at night.
i don't actually..hear them..i just hear the padding of feet down the hallway to the bathroom at the other end. but i know what has happened, and will surely happen again. taking turns, completing the double whammy of releases, then retreating back. eagerly, one would assume.
i have learned to decipher the footsteps. this was not done by careful examination and analysis, but purely by the number of times i have, in a dejected state, laid awake at night, staring out my three massive bedroom windows pondering whatever you like. that's when i hear it. the abrupt but unavoidable -crack- of the door as it forces itself awkwardly from the door frame. that door has not been right as long as i've lived here. then there is the triumphant and perhaps woozy stalk through the dark hallway into the bathroom. fan cuts on. door creaks shut. release. flush. door creaks open. fan shuts off. pad pad pad pad pad pad pad -wham- door closes. you practically have to slam the damn thing shut. this is unfortunate during the wee hours of the morning. i'm sure it stops at some point early in the morning, the activity, but i wouldn't know. i somehow am able to wrestle myself into a sleep state. any sleep state will do. during my dream sequences (humans average 4-5 dreams per night regardless of whether we remember them upon awakening or not) i try to lose myself in whatever i am dreaming about (unless i'm dreaming about hearing my housemates, ahem, strengthening their bond). by morning the bitterness usually subsides and i am too absorbed in the routine bullshit of my existence to think about what i indirectly bore witness to the night before, i and will likely bear witness to again at least twice more this week. this is very lucky for my partner, who sleeps so fucking smug and soundly night after night after night.
it is surely one of life's greatest quandaries, the question of how in a monogamous, faithful relationship between two humans who are present and consensual for all of their sexual encounters, one can confidently say that they have sex as much as they could ever want, and the other lays awake at night unwillingly listening to other people fulfill a similar position, all the while resting her muscles for the smile of contentment she must maintain throughout her day.
i repent, ms. friedan. i repent.
i don't actually..hear them..i just hear the padding of feet down the hallway to the bathroom at the other end. but i know what has happened, and will surely happen again. taking turns, completing the double whammy of releases, then retreating back. eagerly, one would assume.
i have learned to decipher the footsteps. this was not done by careful examination and analysis, but purely by the number of times i have, in a dejected state, laid awake at night, staring out my three massive bedroom windows pondering whatever you like. that's when i hear it. the abrupt but unavoidable -crack- of the door as it forces itself awkwardly from the door frame. that door has not been right as long as i've lived here. then there is the triumphant and perhaps woozy stalk through the dark hallway into the bathroom. fan cuts on. door creaks shut. release. flush. door creaks open. fan shuts off. pad pad pad pad pad pad pad -wham- door closes. you practically have to slam the damn thing shut. this is unfortunate during the wee hours of the morning. i'm sure it stops at some point early in the morning, the activity, but i wouldn't know. i somehow am able to wrestle myself into a sleep state. any sleep state will do. during my dream sequences (humans average 4-5 dreams per night regardless of whether we remember them upon awakening or not) i try to lose myself in whatever i am dreaming about (unless i'm dreaming about hearing my housemates, ahem, strengthening their bond). by morning the bitterness usually subsides and i am too absorbed in the routine bullshit of my existence to think about what i indirectly bore witness to the night before, i and will likely bear witness to again at least twice more this week. this is very lucky for my partner, who sleeps so fucking smug and soundly night after night after night.
it is surely one of life's greatest quandaries, the question of how in a monogamous, faithful relationship between two humans who are present and consensual for all of their sexual encounters, one can confidently say that they have sex as much as they could ever want, and the other lays awake at night unwillingly listening to other people fulfill a similar position, all the while resting her muscles for the smile of contentment she must maintain throughout her day.
i repent, ms. friedan. i repent.