January 13th

Posted: January 13, 2013 in Uncategorized

Dear journal,

I peaked my head around the corner into the living room, after taking ten minutes to slowly, silently make my way down the stairs; he’s still sleeping on my couch.

What do I do? I don’t think I’ve had a sleep over since elementary school, and it was definitely not with a guy I’d just met, who I might have gone on a date with to my diner (still not sure if it was a date; neither of us tried to kiss the other, and he was just asleep on my couch by the time I came back with the tea).

I have to work today, but that’s not until later. Should I sneak by him and go make some breakfast? I’m getting pretty hungry, sitting on my stairs. I don’t know if I should wake him up or not. Maybe he’ll just wake up while I’m in the kitchen; I just don’t want to slam around too loudly, because I used to hate when Mother would do that. He’s going to have to get up sometime, but is he going to freak out, forget where he is and think I kidnapped him or something?

Of course I didn’t kidnap him. How would I have carried him? And wouldn’t he be tied up or something, with a headache from where he was knocked out?

I’ve been reading too many mystery novels.

That’s it. I’m hungry, I’m going to make breakfast, and if he wakes up while I’m in the kitchen, I’m sure he’ll figure it out. He’s not stupid. But wait – I should probably change out of my pj’s first.

Okay, here’s the plan: tip-toe back upstairs, get dressed for the day, tip-toe back down stairs (hoping that rumbling stomach doesn’t wake Andrew up), make breakfast (hopefully without annoying him), deal with whatever else happens as it happens.

Wait, why don’t I want him to wake up? He has to at some point. I can’t just leave an unconscious guy on my furniture as I go about my day. Should I be making breakfast for both of us? I wonder what he likes. Maybe I should wake him up and ask him?

I can’t wake him up before I get dressed, so I better start tip-toeing upstairs.

He might be awake already – I just heard movement in the living room, but there is no way I am looking around that corner again until I’m in jeans instead of pj’s. I’ll let you know how it goes, but I better get up these stairs before I’m busted.

Why am I afraid of getting busted? This is my house. He should feel busted. Maybe I should just wear my pj’s.

Nope, these things are ratty and terrible. Gotta change.

Always,
-Miriam

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