Once again I find myself devoid of the one thing that I want the most…sleep. You would think that after all these years of being a professional insomniac I would get used to the long, sleepless nights that go along with it, but you never really do. Sure, not all nights are bad. Some are better than others, but some nights, like tonight, are just intolerable. I live alone. I love living alone. There’s no one to answer to. You can do whatever you want, when you want it. I feel that everyone should live alone at some point in their lives. You learn a lot about yourself and what you can handle. Your apartment becomes your world and you cherish it at the end of a long day at work. You may think that you appreciate your space, but the true test comes with what you do with it on these lonely, sleepless nights.

I keep a lot of things to myself. A lot of thoughts and feelings, trapped. It’s hard for me to open up to people, to really let them in. I grew up in two homes. In the first one, opinions were not voiced. It didn’t matter what you thought of anything really, because there was no one there to listen. I had a strict bedtime. Always. No exceptions. Many nights, I would lay in bed, completely awake. I didn’t dare to leave my room or go downstairs. The understanding was that it was bedtime and that was where I was expected to be, regardless of the fact if I was sleeping or not. So, I would lay there, my body completely still but my mind racing with thought after thought after thought; I couldn’t turn my brain off. Every so often thoughts of sleep and why was I not sleeping popped into my head…when that happens, you know that you’re in for a rough night.

My second home was completely the opposite. Opinions were encouraged to be voiced even if they were in disagreeance from someone else’s. Everyone’s thoughts mattered. There were no bedtime laws. Everyone there was a sort of insomniac like me. At all hours of the night, you could bet that someone would be awake; you could hear the soft paddle of feet in the halls or voices in the kitchen. I didn’t feel alone there, but I also didn’t partake in the evening rituals of walking around the house, of actually getting up from my bed. I stayed in bed as I had been trained to do so, quietly and still with only my brain for movement. I tried to train my mind to stop thinking, to focus on nothing, to clear the mind as the expression says, but to no avail. Some nights, sleep just wasn’t meant to be.

Flash to my present day rituals of curbing my insomnia. In the comfort of my apartment, I lay in bed as I always had, but now I get up. I roam around my dark apartment eating snacks or running to the bathroom. I do not believe that the comfort of a good book will aid to clear my mind so that I can sleep. They don’t do that for me. They keep me awake, wanting to read more and more which is why there is never a book at my bedside. I turn my lamp on, I sometimes turn the television on (sometimes not), I write in my journal. Believe it or not, all of these things can help at times, but sometimes none of them can. That’s when the loneliness kicks in and I wish that I didn’t live alone all of the time. Will I go to sleep tonight or do I have many more hours to brave alone? The answer to that is always unknown.

I have lived in the same studio apartment for a little over five years now and looking around, there is only a scant amount of furniture in it that I have bought myself. Out of that scant is only one piece that I actually love; the rest was all given to me by various people, trying to “fill up” my apartment. The same goes for just about everything in my apartment aside from my clothes, shoes and books. In fact, the only thing that I had bought for my apartment over the years was my glassware from Pier1, which to this day I still love. A few months ago, I treated myself to a new dinnerware set, but we’ll save that for another time. Today, I was on a quest to find the perfect couch, or rather, loveseat because I feel that a couch might be too big to fit into my place despite the roominess of it. I don’t know about you, but I am an avid online shopper. From the second that I discovered online shopping, I was hooked. Its the easiest way to shop. You can spend the same amount of hours shopping from the comfort of your own home that you would by physically going to a store. So naturally, this week, when I decided that I was going to make the investment into buying a loveseat, the first thing that I did was go online. Me, being the incredibly picky person that I am found a lot of stuff that I just wasn’t interested in. They were either the wrong shape or color. It is hard to actually know what the color of the fabric will look like when it’s in your own home or if the loveseat is even comfortable.

I obsessedly badgered my mother via multiple ways of communication this morning (i.e. Texting, messaging and phone), even got her to surf the web a bit with some of my qualifications in mind and it was only after that, that I listened to her words of wisdom. The only way to really go loveseat shopping is to do it in person. And of course, she was right. It really isn’t possible to know if you will truly be satisfied unless you go in person. After being cooped up in the house yesterday, due to drenching rain, this morning I started my day off early. I got up, showered, made breakfast, did laundry and then ventured out into the beautiful crisp sunny day to set off on my quest.

I found myself walking into Bob’s in hopes that they would have something I wanted and a decent price tag. Upon walking into the store I was greeted by a salesman, who although seemed very nice, was a bit over-the-top. Immediately, I wished that I had brought someone with me.

Although they had many different loveseats to choose from, I was looking for something specific and nothing quite jumped out at me…at first. Then, something did. It was the wrong color, a grain-y beige fabric with, I want to say, dark honey wood legs, but it was really comfortable, so I kept it in mind. Then, upon my hundredth walk around the store, because I firmly believe that you have to constantly walk away from something before deciding on your purchase, I happened upon another piece. This one reminded me of a friend’s that I loved. The cushions were a taupe paisley and the wood trim was a sort of mahogany. After carefully considering it for a bit I realized that I actually liked the couch and oversized chair better than the loveseat, so I walked away from this one too.

I was almost about to give up when I came upon two very different, leather loveseats. I had been staying away from leather because I feel that it’s hard to snuggle into on a chilly winter night, but I was suddenly drawn to these two pieces that it seemed like I had to give them a chance. The first one was chocolate leather, really soft, the arms were high and curved out, there was a wood trim that boasted multiple shades (darker on the outside and lighter in the middle). This loveseat had an old world feel; something that could easily be found in a Long Island home or in a posh Upper East Side apartment. Classic. The second one was black leather, not as soft (I later learned that the first was actually bonded leather, which means not much leather at all whereas this one was actual leather), the arms were shorter and nothing to brag about and there wasn’t any wood trim. What I did like about this loveseat though was that it felt roomier, though in actuality, it was smaller. I sat on one and then the other and back to the first one, back-and-forth and back-and-forth.

I could tell that the salesman was getting impatient with me, but to be fair, I had told him from the beginning that it would take me a while to make a decision and that I was extremely picky…he must not have thoroughly believed me until now. I took pictures of both of them; sent them to a few people, spoke on the phone. There was in fact no consensus. Half of my “consultants” preferred one and half the other. So, I decided to do my walk around again…I walked the full length of the store and back, and upon my arrival I had fallen in love with the chocolate one.