I am in Southwest D.C., lying in my girlfriend’s bed, and I want this moment to freeze and stay forever. I want this feeling to stop and hover, solid but malleable, so I can stretch it out like a tarp and wrap it up tight around my entire life.

I am just waking up from a nap on fresh cotton sheets and giant fluffy pillows, a nap wrapped in fresh green air lovingly kissed out from the hundreds of trees down here.

I love the smell of New York air — of dirty metal, concrete and a distant whiff of urine — but it’s not napping air.

I started this nap by lying very still and reading Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, a perfect horror novel that bounced right off of my sleeping face shortly after I got into the good part. It’s still here in bed for me, waiting for me to pick it up. I will, in a minute.

Read the rest of this entry »