I Like It Wild
- For Fellas, For Ladies, Lifestyle
I have a few favorite stores and designers and Anthropologie is one of them. They're advertising this hanging bed, and I mean seriously. I'd likely never make anything of myself if I owned it. No, not anything. Quotes would go unanswered. Time would flyby nights and daylights wouldn't matter. Not one bit. The percentage of me doing anything but writing/reading for myself and personal acrobatics (she definitely lols) in this bad boy is about 900%. You'd see me, then you'd see me, under the covers. You'd wake me, then you'd watch my narcoleptic tail take instantaneous doze-off medicine via trapeze bedding environment and things would just worsen each second my head eased into the pillow-top. Why bother with anything much, I have a swinging, err, hanging bed. Nannie nannuh. The bed I do own is a canopy and is also one of my most favorite things. It works just fine and well and is all shabby chic and wonderlustrous. Yet and still, even after knowing the things we have only graduate and leave us wanting for more - we soon acquire and find thereafter, once again the newness in every new thing dulls. The fact is that I don't have that swinging bed. I want it. But I already have a bed, just like tons of other little treasures. Pivotal moment in this realization is I'm like that with mostly any and everything. In conversation 'so n so'Â (this is what we'll call the nameless adventurer) said something aligned with 'keeping things new.' I envisioned: The crispy-breath of the fresh in the morning. The wet belch of a rainy afternoon. The dreary dankness of the evening drill. See how we're getting worse here people? Not keeping it new.
The thing that scares me about forever is monotony. All 'lone me and moi, in a partnership, a creative friendship (hah!), a marriage, etcetera. What I've found is what I think is the solution. Be patient: I am OCDish. No, I know stuff about me. I'm very particular about many many - everythings. Actually diagnosed at one point anal-retentive. I'm recovering. I tend to not like surprises. I prefer control and planned happenstances. Contradiction much? Yes. Controlled environments make me happy, secure, and comfortable. Like cozy feet. I've recently re-done the refrigerator in glass Pyrex containers to hold leftovers, clear-bagged pure organic food, and I'm attempting to keep up with the laundry and not let it go beyond 3 loads. Keyword, *attempt.* And then so n so asked me if I liked surprises. NO, absolutely not, not really, I mean sometimes. Coincidentally no. Well, from you, perhaps, uhmm. And then so he carried along. A few outings later, I'm ok with surprises. And now, voila - ready at a moments notice to do whatevertheflukeishouldnotbesofreeinglyAuhwellI'mstillaliveIguessitsokso I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky, think about it every night and day, spread my wings and flyyyyyy...' Surprises done well build trust. I want to be happy with what I have so I had to infiltrate the infrastructure and figure out why I constantly require more. I am in dire need of more because of a drug called 'wonder.' At this point I'm actually wondering (aka looking forward) to not knowing what's going to happen. It's quite the scary dream to trust another human's judgement. The best part? I'm actually wild about it. Looking forward to something is what keeps a thing new; the possibility of the unknown is what keeps it intense ... lush. What is the main ingredient of inducing such feelings? Surprises. Like coming home to a swinging bed. You already know it can only go up from there.
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