My bed is starting to get crowded. GREET MY BREAST LID bought me a croc stuffed toy to accompany my caveman teddy. I have a small bed. Good enough for just one person, and conveniently good enough for me—in Port Moresby anyway.
A spacious bed is a lonely bed, I dare say. I wonder how Ces dozes the night away (except during vodka or tequila nights) when she’s got an entire outback of space in her king-sized bed. I find it daunting that every toss and turn’s a reminder that there’s nobody to grumble “Move over!” at but your pretty little self.
A few weeks ago, I had dinner with Ces. Struggling with her chopsticks, she asked me: “WHEN will I be truly happy?”. I almost told her to drop by Eii Home (a furniture shop) and get a new bed—a smaller one. Too full to be cynical after a lovely Japanese dinner, I sighed reassuringly instead.
A former love once told me that happiness is a state of mind. I don't understand what he meant. I, on the other hand believe happiness doesn’t come in one she-bang. Not in one lump-sum. They come in pieces—pieces that you have to sort-out to make life bearable. Like the game Tetris, bricks of assorted shapes drop one after another for you to sort out. Sometimes you get the easily maneuverable pieces; sometimes you get the odd-shaped ones like the crosses or the L-shapes.
After the dinner my phone rang and it’s Midnight-Caller on the other line, offering yet another indecent proposal to spend the night in his bed. I sighed, wished him a good night and (for the nth time since we first met) turned him down.
That night I slept in my small bed with caveman, croc and the last 100 pages of Sharon Creech.
17 March 2006