January 11 2012, 1:38 PM
I woke up early this morning. A terrible dream about my frigid ex-wife roused me from a fitful slumber. She was cooing to me in the dream, and I was as confused as any person would be if they woke up in a strange bed, in a strange room, in an extremely familiar apartment. As I shook off the cobwebs I realized that the cooing hadn't stopped. What is this woman trying to do to me?, I thought, just as it dawned on me. It's a damn pigeon!
You see, my swanky digs for #AS2012 has provided me with a balcony, right next to the bed (that itself is difficult to notice under the Everest-sized mountain of pillows. I myself am a pillow minimalist). Great news for a nicotine addict like myself, but also great news for this aerodynamic egg-laying rat that likes to call this balcony home. I prefer confrontation in my underwear–like any good latch–so I jumped out of bed and gave it one helluva fist shake.
Is an apartment swap weird? Possibly, but I prefer to think of it as a military exercise, a metaphorical 3 AM wake-up call accompanied with a 5 mile run. It keeps you on your toes, it keeps you fresh. It's not the why that is important here, as a matter of fact we can't even remember why we're doing this. Rather, it is the because, because we can damn it. Need an iron every morning? I don't. Like to unwind with a few hours in front of the flat screen? Too bad. Can't go without seeing your beloved grapefruit tree for a few days? It's tough, but... she'll be there when I get back.
So I sleep in contention with a battalion of pillows on an otherwise gigantic mattress. I put my toothbrush in a different pint glass when I'm finished with it. I use a hashtag instead of a front door fob. I drink gin instead of scotch, and gentle cooing puts me to sleep instead of refrigerator gurgling.
And I'm a better latch because of it.