High Maintenance

D bought a new, grown-up couch. He is very cute when excited about these sorts of things. He said "I am suddenly aware of my aging... now that I have a couch."

His apartment is small, and there are a limited number of conformations in which the furniture can be. He arranged the furniture into Scheme 1 and declared "We will try this for a week and see what we think."

The new conformation involves sleeping against a wall, underneath two bikes and alongside the area where his paintings are stored.

We hung out for a bit last night, talked, caught up, and then started to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and rolled over. About five minutes later I opened my eyes and yelled "Dear god holy shit that is the scariest thing ever you have to move this RIGHT NOW!" because I found my head right next to a painting of George Bush's head. This is a giant painting with a bunch of public figures, and the Dubya face is slightly bigger than an actual human head.

"It's not that its a bad painting but... I just don't want to... I can't sleep next to Dubya! It's awful to open your eyes and see... well, see HIM!"

D was all put it out and huffy and "Fine" and moved the painting to behind the new couch.

I am high maintenance.