Jason Bull + bed sheets (that's technically 2 words but you love me lol)
“Jason, I thought you were supposed to make the bed!” You shouted, knowing the little bastard could hear you from the other room.
After a moment, he appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smirk. “Must’ve forgotten. Why don’t you help me?”
You gave Bull a snort, crossing your arms as he came closer. “Why should I help you do your chore?” You demanded. “Just because you’re so lazy-”
The rest of the sentence was cut off when Bull suddenly decided to wrap his arms around your frame, pulling you onto the bed. The movement was awkward, but effective; he had you pinned down among the bed sheets with a grin. “You should help me because you love me.” He stated matter-of-factly. “And when we’re done, then we can mess it up again.”
I find comfort in the crackle of a not-so-gently-loved vinyl.
Sure, some albums sound amazing fresh out of the sleeve, in immaculate condition, and a legitimate skip in a record makes me cringe. But a little surface noise tells me that this album has been around. Someone handled it enough that it got a little beat up along the way. It has been played and tossed on top of another pile of records in turn. Or played so much that the grooves have been worn out.
So it has a little static. a little pop and crackle. But so does a campfire, and so does a running brook. And I might be crazy, but that crackle is as comforting to me as the murmur of slow moving traffic, electric base board heaters, the hum of a refrigerator. These sounds are all familiar and personal and I wouldn’t trade that crackle for silent clarity any day.
“I want to eat” doesn’t eat
“I’m not hungry” eats everything
“I want to draw” doesn’t draw
“I want to sleep” doesn’t sleep
“I want to get up” sleeps
“I should do my chores” ignores them
“I want to relax” does chores