Life is just a series of windows, isn’t it?
This is the ever-decreasing circle of sex opportunity. When two people are awake/up for it/not too full/in the same place at the same time/un-angry. And there is no one else in the room. Except maybe a dog. Is that weird?
That one day that happens every few months when you look in the mirror and don’t internally scream, “MY EYES! MY EYES!” You are in the hot window. Go out NOW. Why does the hot window always happen when you are seeing no one and nothing?
Trashy telly window
There is so much quality television. Stimulating, stirring stuff. Proper, worthy, art form, virtuoso telly. Top of The Lake, or The Handmaid’s Tale. But the trashy telly window strikes along with the sudden realisation that you are up to date on the haute stuff and you can settle down in front of Come Dine With Me. Or even Nashville. Which is a bit of a hate watch. But still.
You’ve got a brilliant stack of brilliant books by your bed, you are going to be asleep in 18 minutes. You have 18 minutes of reading time. Aah don’t you just love to read? Reading is so nourishing. The frontline against getting stupider. Or…INSTAGRAM.
Before it gets out of control. And you start to overthink it. The window where your brain wakes up and asks, “Why would any human put themselves through this?…. Emmeline Pankhurst didn’t die for this.” So you need to grab the wax window. Or suddenly it’s the 70s. Which is also fine.
When you are hungry but not too hungry. Hungry enough to eat but not ravenously deranged enough to eat everything and everyone. Protein and slow release carbs hungry. Not punch someone and grab a Ginsters hungry. Not Razzles and a packet of ham and six Hob Nobs hungry.