When your bed is surrounded on three sides by wood and aluminum, cleverly tucked into the bend of an Airstream, it isn’t easy to get up on the wrong side of it. There’s only one side left, and it had better be the route you mean to take. There’s no room, when there’s no room, for waking up cranky or going to sleep that way. I’m not saying it’s impossible or even unlikely, I’m just saying when there’s only one direction to take you should probably just take it.
The right side of things seems to have a lot more to do with my mouth than my feet actually. Biting my tongue, swallowing criticism, eating words, turning that frown upside down, even occasionally, proudly, restraining from sticking out my tongue. Real mature, but see how it’s all happening from the neck up? It’s definitely up to me how I roll, but I’m not really talking about rolling out of bed. Out you go, especially when you’re parked on a slant. The rest of it, which if you’d like a quick rundown currently includes ski clothes, running shoes, part of the oven, two sleeping dogs, yesterday’s clean dishes, a couple flashlights, a pair of scissors, four Nalgenes, a pretty full trash container, one humming laptop, window treatments dismantled to let the sun shine in, a wet mop, and mismatched leashes ready with plastic poop bags by the door, can take a little tiptoeing around. There we are back to my feet again. It’s always full circle with me.
Two cows are better than one. That’s what I like to say. Coexistence is beautiful. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but there’s definitely an art to it. It works a little better when you learn to chew your cud sometimes. It’s a lot easier to bed down when grass is all you’re chewing on, and the words you do end up eating taste a lot sweeter.