I drove out to the Ponderosa Estates Friday night. Couldn't see what the point of hanging around here was, especially if my plans included nothing of import. Started a fire, though I cooked nothing on it. Ate tortilla chips and 7 layer dip while reading Hard Eight by Janet Evanovich by flickering fire light and the glazed white of the flood lamps on my grandfather's deck.
Sunset had already come to Beaver Valley before I arrived; a ridge to the west intercepts the last rays of direct sunlight long before the the almanac gives for dusk. However, a bright blue sky is still enough to read by for over an hour after the cabin is bathed in shadow.
Nevertheless, I was tired. I put in around 11 p.m., staying up to read some more before I nodded off. I slept on my grandparent's bed in the master bedroom
of their cabin. While small, the cabin can sleep ten without having to discover scar tissue in hidden places on my friends. But none of the sleeping places are of any substantial size. At first, I lay down on top of the sheets and read. At some point I nodded off, but early in the morning a chill overtook me and I slid underneath covers.
I'm comfortable sleeping in my grandparents' bed, in their cabin, and even in the guest
room in their condominium next to Ray's Boathouse on Shilshole. (It's really the sewing room with a Hide-A-Bed.) But this is rare. I don't like sleeping in beds that belong to others. A hotel bed belongs to no one, and poses no problem for me. ANd of course neither does my own bed.
But put me in a bed somewhere else, and I am uncomfortable. I often will get up and go home in the middle of the night. Since my first break-up with April two and a half years ago, I have slept a grand total of once in a bed that belongs to someone else. During the course of my relationship with April, I was convinced to stay at her apartment less than five times, and did not sleep well on any of those occasions. And not because I was up late fornicating. Give me 6 to 12 months of sleeping over regularly, and perhaps I might become comfortable. I wouldn't know though; none of my relationships have lasted that long continuously, with a couple of exceptions.
At some parties I've attended the host/hostess has provided for people to sleep overnight to prevent guests' intoxicated driving after the soiree. Once I attempted to stay over in that manner (even though I do not drink), but ended up leaving around 4:30 a.m. because I couldn't sleep at all. Surprisingly enough, last fall when I stayed over the night prior to my New Orleans trip with Lee & Deborah, I slept well. I was extremely uncomfortable before the sandman came, but for the first time I can remember, I actually slept through the night in someone else's place.
I've even been known to turn down sex simply because I was expected to stay the night. I knew an abrupt leaving would cause more damage than a turn-down at the beginning.
