I'm the sort of person who finds sleep highly overrated--it's nice, but it's no oil painting, if you know what I mean.
Now, that's not because I can't sleep; I can, and do, when the mood strikes me. No, typically this disdain for sleep stems from my hectic lifestyle: I've got too much on my plate to just lay down and do nothing for eight hours at a time...
This past weekend, though, my sleeplessness was due to a mild case of insomnia: I'd go home thinking I was tired, feeling sleepy, my legs aching from walking blocks and blocks and blocks and blocks; I'd be moaning in exhausted agony as I peeled off my haggling clothes and put on my sweats; I'd lay down on the comfy bed and start to read, which usually puts me right out...but nothin'. I sat there for hours, wide awake, intermittently scanning the TV channels, hoping that WNET would replay that painfully dull documentary on the Dead Sea scrolls. I took long, hot, relaxing baths. I wrapped myself around pillows trying to simulate the curve of Jonno's back. But it was hopeless: the combination of sleeping alone (a disturbing sensation), a surfeit of caffiene (I had to stay awake during those meetings somehow), the stifling heat (radiators suck), and the energy of New York throbbing up through the ground and through the walls and through my veins rendered me incapable of dozing very long or very restfully.
Last night, the sound of Jonno's breathing and the feel of the well-worn comforter and the smell of two dogs huddled at my feet were a little slice of heaven.
New Yorkers have never been rude to me. I try not to behave like a complete asshole, and they reward me by being cordial.
This time, however, people were just plain, honest-to-Yahweh nice. Like, going out of their way to be nice. Not just friends like Chad and Julian, who were somewhat obligated to be civil. I'm talking shop keepers and coffee queens and cabbies and...well, nearly everyone. I dunno why, I'm not questioning it, I'm not attributing it to anything at all, I'm just sayin' folks was friendly.
This is particularly true of the webfolks I met, many of whom I'd corresponded with, but never encountered face-to-face--notably (in chronological order) the spunky Sparky, adorable Andy, ebullient Brad, quick-witted Choire, and the tranquil Tin Man. As an added bonus, I also stumbled across the heretofore unknown quantities of Mike and Thomas. Not bad for a weekend's work.
But that's not all. There were even some moderately staunch heterosexuals who passed my way: specifically Anil, Cam, and David. I gotta admit, though, I was surprised to find 'em--I mean, maybe I'm sheltered or cliquish or something, but the weblogging community I know is pretty, well, queer. I guess I just don't think of it as a very heterofriendly place. Girl-kissing boys seem downright exotic...
Just re-read the above. Yikes. I gotta get outta this gay ghetto.
Feh.
Yes, you heard right: feh.
