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Things changed when I started letting him sleep over. The first time was an accident: we dozed off on my couch together after a long conversation and I woke up with my head on his chest and his arm draped over me. It’s hard to explain why, but it felt strange and different to see him in the morning. I just never had before.

And then he just wound up staying over some nights after he had untied me. We’d go to sleep together and I would find myself curled against him in the morning. It was this strange, hollow phantom relationship that existed exclusively in my bedroom. Which makes it sound like there was nothing there, but the terms of play partners was something I had never had to traverse before.

Except we started violating our own terms. We kissed each other, eventually in front of our friends aided by alcohol on Halloween. We started going out on dates, something he first suggested that I initially balked at. We broke rules constantly about how we could touch each other and for which reasons we could.

And, cheesy as it sounds, feelings started to develop out of ambivalence and confusion. I ate my words about it just being a strict “play partner” arrangement, something he now teases me about having said on here.

If you were to ask friends, they could give you a partial story about two people with some banter that figured it out from sharing a bed. Which is true. Something happened when he started sleeping over.

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Okay, I admit it, I’ve done this a few times.

But sometimes a little prod in the right direction is just fine. And sometimes the blanket just falls that way on its own. And I don’t always like sleeping with that much clothing on. And I really can’t be blamed if I’m more comfortable sleeping in a position that makes me kind of available.

So, maybe I’m not totally asleep. And maybe it’s a little bit deliberate. And maybe I’m overstepping my role a little bit. 

But who doesn’t love a brat sometimes?

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Oh, tumblr, I just can’t make myself sleep. I hate this feeling.

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New Year’s Eve: Part 6

Let me tell you, tumblr, Grad was damn good at spooning. A regular pro.

We laid there for a while and talked more. We started kissing. We tried to fall asleep. We failed.

He wound up rubbing my back, then reaching down and rubbing elsewhere. I tried to keep quiet, I wasn’t sure if anyone else was sleeping down in the basement. I bucked lightly against his hand. 

“You’re really different than other people,” Grad said.

I chuckled, “you’re in love with me.” I’d been teasing him about it since we’d started talking. He’d make a comment, pay me a compliment, look at me too long and I’d say that. 

For how random it was, there was something kind of sweet about hooking up with Grad. I don’t know. He’s a good guy. I guess we exchanged numbers, because I found his text the next morning. It’s horrible to admit, but I don’t think I’ll be calling him in the future. I just wouldn’t know what to say without being awkward.

And for that reason among others, I think I’m going to stop my random hookups for a while. I think Grad was a lovely note to end on for now.

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“Lay your sleeping head, my love,

Human on my faithless arm.”

– W. H. Auden.

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I’m one of those people who, in the profound words of Malcolm in the Middle, “casseroles”. It takes me a while to get used to something that’s new or changed. It happens, I don’t process it, and suddenly: ding! 

This is especially true when people stay over or I stay over with someone. Even when I was a child sleeping over my grandmother’s. I’d be in this kind of limbo state where I felt neither here nor there.

Suddenly, I’d have this moment where I’d be like, “oh, I’m here now.” And then it feels like it’s been forever.

This is, of course, especially harsh when the separation occurs. Not saying I get separation anxiety, but I just “casserole” all over again. 

keepingitinthefamily:

She won’t believe he’s home until she wakes up where he is.