August 4, 2021:

I hate my bed.

It's comfortable, but much too large. I bought it in a bust of optimism shortly before my last and probably final "relationship" failed definitively. She never shared it, not even once.

There were others. In a great burst of dating energy, which flamed like a proverbial whathaveyou. Half a dozen. I liked them all very much.

But it has never been my bed. It was always her bed, the one I bought in false optimism. My bed is the smaller one which now occupies the extremely cramped guest room which between Covid and depression will likely never be used. I should sleep there. I love that bed. That was my bed, bought in a different and now far far away burst of optimism, when I felt I was building a nest where I could be comfortable.