Visitor: [looks around incredulously] “But why? There’s no one else here.”
Me: “…well…there’s me?”
Visitor: [laughs] “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Every day I’ll hear large groups pause outside the door, read the “masks recommended” sign, debate whether or not to put them on, and then say, “Oh, well, there’s no one here, just an employee. We don’t need them.”
Cool! Come inside and find out how good I am at spin kicks!
reblog to give retail and restaurant workers the right to spin kick unmasked entitled shitheads
i always thought of a king sized bed as being a bit bigger than a queen, but now that i have one, i can tell you that a king sized bed is an absurdity. i can sprawl out, and my husband can sprawl out, and the cat can sprawl out, and none of us are touching. i reach out in the night, and find only pillows and plush walruses. i reach further and eventually find his elbow. he rolls over the comforters to try and find me. “i have crossed oceans of bed to be with you,” he says. there is a vast expanse of bed untouched, unmapped, unexplored. the cat is still trying to sleep on my face.
someday i’ll buy myself flowers from the farmer’s market i visit every weekend and bring them back to the little flat i call home. i’ll arrange them in a second-hand vase on my coffee table, the one that sits in front the couch where my cat sleeps. with a cup of tea in one and a book in the other, i’ll curl up in the huge velvet armchair that everyone told me not to buy. there’s a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter, a collection of mismatched mugs in the cabinet. the shelves are overflowing with my favourite books. cushions and rugs are scattered across every surface. the herbs in the planter boxes outside my kitchen window are blooming. nothing matches. nothing needs to. i look around me and smile. it’s a simple life, a small life. but it’s enough. it’s mine.
