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Naked Thinking

With the combination of my wearing pants more often (instead of shorts) again and the recent renewed heat wave, I've taken to sleeping naked. The setup in my room has my desk slightly blocking the AC vent and my overhead fan doesn't circulate the air well enough. An odd smell has lingered, perhaps from my laundry or a hidden apple core, or maybe my general sweatiness. I don't know. So, the idea of sleeping naked and my room smelling paints a awful picture, but I don't care. I strip down in the dark, lie above the covers and rapidly cool down. Then, at some point in the night, I imagine during a dream when a snowman straddles me, I wake up cold and pull my thin sheet over me, instantly warm again.

Then when my alarm goes off I always run over to it to shut it off, but instantly wonder why I'm naked and duck under the windows so the mannequin in the window across the street doesn't spot me and tell the landlords. I then run back to my bed to find my underwear and head to the bathroom because I always have to go worse when I sleep naked for some reason. If I lived alone, I'm sure I'd just go right into the bathroom naked, because I then shower. Why is that temporary clothing even necessary?

When I'm naked I always try to avoid thinking about people. I can think of places, actions and ideas, but I always imagine naked-thinking of somebody creates a new connection with that person that I just don't want to exist (unless I specifically want it to exist). In the shower I preoccupy myself with how lathered I am, how many seconds until I move my toothbrush to another side and the day's to do list with the people who might be involved replaced with plants, capital cities and geometric shapes. Should a classmate or relative wander in, a spell is immediately cast on them and either they turn into a ficus or a building grows up around them.

It all reminds me of the night someone broke into our apartment building when I was living with Alex and the noise woke him, but not me. He came into my room with just a towel around his waist. Still groggy, I thought I was dreaming when a half-nude Alex asked me if I'd heard breaking glass. I laughed at him then, but that apartment was hot and miserable. Should a criminal break in and kill us naked, so be it. At least it'd be a comfortable death.

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