I am tired of being in exile.

Ed’s been just this side of dying ill since Monday, so to give him a break and to keep myself from flying into rages when he snores I’ve been sleeping in the spare room. At first it was fun – sort of like camping, and I always love having a bed to myself – but as the days wore on, it became less exciting and more of a hassle than anything else. I miss my bed. I miss my alarm clock. I miss not sleeping directly above the entrance to our apartment building, and not hearing the comings and goings of my neighbours. I don’t need or want to hear Drunk Betty and her companion, Admiral Ackbar, coming home tanked at 3am and stumbling around as they try to figure out how to open the front door. I love me some fresh air, but I also love me some not waking up at 6am with full rigor mortis because the temperature dropped and my blankets fell on the floor. I even almost – but not quite – miss Ed’s flailing elbows to the face. The day he got sick we went and bought new sheets – these crazy deep pocketed 650 thread count Egyptian cotton things made by Isis herself, and I haven’t been able to sleep on them yet and now they’re all germy! It is unfair. I want my bed back. Ed promises tonight is the last night of my exile, but I am unsure – he was still looking and sounding pretty retched when he left for work this morning.

Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. I should just make the best of it and turn the spare room into MY bedroom – this whole notion of married couples needing to share bedspace is archaic and painful, what with the elbows and all. If I got rid of the crap in the room that I don’t necessarily want to share space with – say, Ed’s snowboarding equipment and the FUCKING CAR TIRES THAT ARE SO WHITE TRASH HOLY CRAP I HATE THEM – I could make the spare room my own personal boudoir for sexy times. I’m an only child; I just don’t get the idea of needing to share. I want my own bedroom!

There are a thousand reasons why having my own bedroom is an excellent idea, but I think I will resist the urge to redecorate with silk scarves and posters torn from Teen Beet for the time being because I know once I got settled, I’d be damned if I’d go back and Ed would probably start to pout after a while, or just get far too used to farting when and wherever he saw fit.

I am equally fascinated and horrified by these. I want a pair in every colour. Finally, my dream of being a Solid Gold Dancer is close to reality!