Writing Upside Down

My neighbors are having sex. Upstairs neighbors. They do it a lot, and I’m pretty sure directly over my desk. It doesn’t bother me though, it’s the city. Where would they do it? Quietly in the bathroom. I wouldn’t. At least not regularly. I envy them really. I miss the distraction of sex. Or maybe just physical affection in general. It’s not a sob story, so keep your tears from welling over me. I’m just saying I miss it. Like when I was a kid and I didn’t get to watch my Saturday morning cartoons; it’s nothing too important, just something one likes to do. Sex, that is, physical affection, kissing, tugging, groping, nuzzling: the whole lot. Of course, I’m sure there are people who miss it more, but like I said, this isn’t a pity party. I think they stopped upstairs. Probably laying next to each other. Maybe lighting a cigarette.

I’m trying too hard to write right now. I’ve deleted the following paragraphs four times. Maybe I should just go to sleep.