Sleeping Alone.

I slept alone last night. I didn't have to.

Rowdy came over and we hung out and cuddled and did the monkey thing and watched "Mythbusters" and did some things monkeys never even thought of. Then he headed back to his place to meet Sprite, and invited me along. I said no. I stayed home and read "Into the Wild" (conclusion: Chris McCandless was crazypants, but I really want to go hiking) and sprawled out over the whole bed and slept well and late.

I like sleeping with people, in both senses, but I also like having my own space. I've been booking myself densely recently, with almost every night either work or a social/sexual commitment, and just quietly sitting at home feels like a luxury. Not one I'd want all the time (I've had enough of that), but one I sometimes need. Sleeping with Rowdy and Sprite is wonderful and sexy and warmfuzzy, but sleeping alone makes me feel like I've really rested.

It's possible that my philosophical solitude could be replicated via a king size bed. Three people in a full is cute and cuddly and all, but it does kinda mean you've got someone's elbow in your face all night.