Sleeping Around

Inspired by the writings of my wicked smart funny friends Jesse Seret (Perfect Calm), Trish Deitch (Distant Dock), Jessica Schickel (Chagrin and Bear It), Jen Sincero (Hey Little Bad Ass), and Janine Schulz (Oiling of a Rusty Mind), and encouraged by people I’ve met here and there, I will now commence the blog. Maybe just about beds. Maybe about other things too. But the beds are a constant. I’ve been keeping record of every mattress, hammock, waterbed, and couch I’ve spent the night on for some time, as many of you know.

Not every bed makes it into the bed collection. Sometimes I forget to take a picture. Once my computer was stolen on a night train in deepest India and I lost an important year of photos. Sometimes the beds in which I’ve slept would cause too much of a stir if made public, so. But there are lots beds in the bed collection. And stories behind each one.

If beds bore you then there is still some hope for us having a blogger/reader relationship. Let’s see how it goes. I’m only about 80% comfortable with this set up and welcome your input.

Love and kusheln from my red velvet bed in Berlin,

Noa
June, 2010
~ Sunday, January 22 ~
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Navan Guest House, Chennai (January 22, 2012) — Wrung out like a janitor’s rag I landed in Chennai late at night with no place to stay and three different half confirmed tickets to Sri Lanka on my drained computer. Fog in Delhi had done me in. Flights were cancelled, flights were missed, flights were caught by the edges of my broken nails. I’d fought my way here, racing through Kolkata Airport as if my life depended on it. I’d begged stranger after stranger for use of their cel phones, I swore at a chai vendor, I wandered in and out of security zones with swirls in my eyes. And here I was finally in Chennai, collecting my limping bag from the conveyor with smudged hands and face. I wandered to a vacant help desk and from the fluorescent effulgence emerged a man with a business card who promised me everything I needed. A car to a bed and ride back in the morning for 900 rupees. My savior in Sikkim arranged some flights and I was able to lay my head on the starchy sheets with some semblance of peace. I slept gingerly, meaning alert and snappy, twisted and a little bitter but full of potential. All I needed was a little warmth.  Navan Accommodation, #9 Mosque St. Pallavaram, Chennai-43

Navan Guest House, Chennai (January 22, 2012) — Wrung out like a janitor’s rag I landed in Chennai late at night with no place to stay and three different half confirmed tickets to Sri Lanka on my drained computer. Fog in Delhi had done me in. Flights were cancelled, flights were missed, flights were caught by the edges of my broken nails. I’d fought my way here, racing through Kolkata Airport as if my life depended on it. I’d begged stranger after stranger for use of their cel phones, I swore at a chai vendor, I wandered in and out of security zones with swirls in my eyes. And here I was finally in Chennai, collecting my limping bag from the conveyor with smudged hands and face. I wandered to a vacant help desk and from the fluorescent effulgence emerged a man with a business card who promised me everything I needed. A car to a bed and ride back in the morning for 900 rupees. My savior in Sikkim arranged some flights and I was able to lay my head on the starchy sheets with some semblance of peace. I slept gingerly, meaning alert and snappy, twisted and a little bitter but full of potential. All I needed was a little warmth. 

Navan Accommodation, #9 Mosque St. Pallavaram, Chennai-43