Pretending a little to be Jessica.

Jess.

I just woke up in your room, like, an hour ago. I also woke up at 6. The rain is coming down I put a glass of water on the nightstand it looks good there. Why'd you reconfigure? But this is nice, too. Listening to that weird, percussive rain sound in your still-bright room (even in the shadows, because it's dark outside), in your bed, smelling Jason's breakfast--I can really understand why you needed this room. I am in love with your hanging plant. I can hear it whisper to my spirit. It's telling me to grow.

If it were Sunday I'd never leave. I'd roll over. I'd wait for you to come home and read a book or something. But it's just another manic...

And I know what my house looks like this morning. I know my room is filled with dead leaves and the curtain's wet, my sheets are cold, my laundry's overflowing from that old canvas boat bag. I'll be confronted with bok choy or bananas or oranges that are not juicy at all. I'm gonna take a shower and dress and shuffle with the radio on, make some lunch and off to work.

If it were Sunday, I'd never leave this place. You got a nest of perfitude, dude. Well, almost perfitude.

This is a detail, so you can tell me I'm just a lame-o for even saying it BUT what about another fitted sheet that goes and stays on the mattress mattress, so when the featherbed scoots around, you can see more pink or some yellow or something? A floral surprise? (insert cute, excited-and-eager-to-please cartoon raccoon noise here.)

Or, what about putting this guy where your chair is?

Ummmm. Why did Jill Greenberg cut off his butt?

K. Check you later.
Love,
Stabo.