Wherein I am entirely pathetic. Last night, I went to visit Pip and Johnny's place. During a thunderstorm so strong it felt like I was driving into the pit of hell. And it turns out, they're still living in a motel room, poor things. I thought they had a place by now, but they'll be moving out Wednesday, fortunately. But we'd been trying to get together for a while and since we both had Monday off, he said I could come over and share his whiskey. Wonderful conversation lubricant, that stuff. Lord, the man can go off on a bitch rant like no one else, but then again, so can I, and it felt pretty good. It also turns out he cleared up and denied SO many disgusting rumors about him and the nasty girl in his department, without me even asking - she came to mind apparently while he was on his nonstop vent. It would seem she downloaded pictures of him in a swimming pool from his Facebook, put them on her phone and was showing them around to people like she had been with him and taken them. She also told our mutual friend D, who was good friends with Pippy, that she needed to "stay away from him", and told several people that she and Pip were sexually involved. This is the same one that is constantly giving me stinkeye. He says there's never been anything between them whatsoever and is thoroughly creeped out by the stalkerish behavior.
By the end of that conversation, I was pretty elated, and he'd started posting pictures of us to FB and showed me pictures on his phone of everything from his new great niece to a newborn kitten he saved to his daughter's prom pictures. Another drink and a while later and he wasn't comfortable with the idea of me driving home, besides the fact it was nearly 2AM. "If you're staying, you need to get on that side of the bed. No, I don't mind, it's better and safer than a DUI." I don't sleep well away from home, I'll openly admit. I no longer go to Dixie's house mostly for this reason, besides the fact she snores like a cave troll, leaves the TV on full blast all night, and the apartment reeks of stale smoke and unchanged cat litter. I was struck with insomnia once again last night, but . . . here comes the sap -
sleep eluding me was quite lovely this go round. I really kind of hated myself for it, but I spent a good chunk of last night simply watching him sleep, watching his chest rise and fall. And then there's the sound of snoring. This is #1 on my list of most annoying, nerve-wracking, rage-inducing sounds ever. Ever. And yet I was laying there in complete bliss, even after he rolled over and was half on top of me with his mouth inches away from my face, emitting the noise that irks me the most in the world. I probably shouldn't have drank so much and shouldn't have crawled under his covers like that. But I've gotten so tired of dreaming, and let myself have this pitiful little pleasure, just this once. Pathetic, desperate, hanging onto what is probably not there. Actually the longer I think about it, I really, really shouldn't have done this, and he probably thinks I'm weird. Or then again, I could be over thinking things again. I'm sure it's not the first time a friend has had too much and ended up passed out beside him. It was unsurprising, yet disturbing how I could just glance over and stare at him, completely at ease, and feel so happy. And yet . . . well, it's a 'so close but so far' kind of feeling. I want this, all the time. For it not to be a guilty pleasure to discover we'd somehow gotten pressed up against each other in the night, but for it to be on purpose. It's the most bizarre kind of relationship, yet I haven't felt more content than last night, insomnia or no, with my produce guy asleep beside me and Johnny in the next bed with a clumsy, 10 week old Labrador mix nestled into the covers with him.
And that's aside from the fact I kept having an arm thrown haphazardly over me or finding one of his legs between mine. I'm not sure if he was just that comfortable or if it's a sign that it's been a long time since he shared a bed.
No one really needs to know I stayed all night, and fortunately there was no shitstorm awaiting me at home when I pulled up this morning for spending the night in a motel room with two men.
I did offer to take Pippy out this morning but he declined and said he'd rather head to the gym. Which, by the way, he thinks I should show up at once in a while, ensuring me that people of all disciplines go there and don't really judge or pay much attention to each other. It's not that I don't want to, I'm just terrified of other people seeing me and how out of shape I am. But I can work out at home until then.
I just wish I could work out what the hell I did last night and why.