:: linus ::

I got this luxurious blanket a few months ago, for Christmas. I sleep with it at night, pull it out for naps, take it on overnight trips: I love this synthetic-down-and-polyester goodness.

My blanket and I were on the couch yesterday, thinking about a nap and more presently about the soup I was having for lunch. It was raining outside so we were all wrapped up together: me, the blanket, the soup. I'm not sure if it was the meal or me who was messy, but I wound up with soup spills on my favorite blanket.

As I was spot-washing the situation, I thought about how I could have been a better blanket keeper and had it far away from my mess. I could have kept it on my bed, or safe in a drawer. And I was thinking about you, everyone I wrap up in and want close and then spill on. Sorry, and thank you.

I'm waiting for someone to say the magic words, to slap their knee and tell me: Just kidding! It's getting so dark here, dark enough to cry quietly and no one will know. I just want the lights to flip on and for this empty place to be a stage, these days to be scenes, these words to be scripted and there's a clean happy ending just waiting for me to read it.

For once in my life, I think I wish things were fake.