BedHead [Chronicles of Dis/Infection, Sep2017]


If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed. William H. McRaven

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First evening/night on our new bed. I am sure there was a time, a few years back, ancient history now in my late thirties, a time when I might have considered this luxurious extravagance. Something for the consummate consumer who knows no better way in which to enhance his or her happiness. Now though, instead of impassive, vacuous consumption, I feel a minor sense of rightful reward. Achievement, even arrivism. It seems T and I have spent many enough nights on shoddy mattresses and dysfunctional, sagging lath floors to have earned our right to, via crumpled mattresses and locked neck muscles, a decent, grown-up income Betten Thaler Mattress. Plus Italian bed frame.

The difference between the bed I am typing on at this very moment, and the shambolic, glorified cod I was lying on just yesternight is too comical to even describe. Upon spying the massive, high frame and thick, lavish mattress from the kitchen earlier this evening, the similes that immediately popped into my mind were of the lowest, most automobile kind: Rolls Royce, Bentley, Maserati….a sense of too much compared to yesterday’s cinquecento.

This new bed has a thick, lush mattress with complex, intercalated layers and differently composed zones, depending on which part of your body is supposed to be located atop it [during fully recumbent, horizontalized sleep]. For example, presently my posterior is approaching what is probably the cranial zone and thus there is some give, which is fine because, in combination with my back being propped up against an equally superb pillow levered up against the wall, the level of comfort experienced is off the known charts. I mean this in a very literal sense: I couldn’t have imagined before this last hour that one can feel so comfortable being propped up in bed. But here we are, here I am.

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Then there is the width, the whole initial point of getting a new bed. We’d been catching bemused flack for camping out together in our 120cm berth, a general disbelief as if what we had been describing was an anatomical impossibility rather than a cramped sleeping arrangement. Plus it had/has never seemed cramped to us as, when falling asleep we tend to get entangled ever closer as if the objective we had in mind, for some indefinite point past midnight was a cosy, hybrid Tiziemba blob of limbs with two mouths kissing some place amidst it. 120cm was oodles of space. But then listening to every other, no, every couple and non-couple we’ve had over for dinner or cake rave on about wider beds our curiosity was naturally piqued. Naturally T was the one to get concrete about the matter, she’s the serious party when it comes to matters of interior decoration. She ordered the bed(frame), though it eventually took forever to get it. And she’s also the one who got us to haul ass to a crosstown secondhand storlet to then drag home a pre-owned duckboard on a pullcart; which was probably one of the funnest activities all summer.

As for the mattress, embarrassed to say but for the longest while I was enamored with that Caspar crap for the simple reason that I’d ended up reading many of those “rave reviews” and fancied the idea of zzzzzzzzing on it for 99 night and then sending it back with a thanks but not my type note or something more flippant still. Then I fortunately remembered stuff like: support your local economy. Or: sleep on it first. In both senses: A) consider your significant purchases for a long while (i have the feeling I’ve finally begun to manage this incredibly demanding skill and sometimes a couple of months will pass before I ultimately buy stuff; this, above anything else, to me, seems to suggest that I must be something resembling an adult, if not from the inside, then at the very least from the outside, behaviorally) B) do a trial lie-down on the actual product [which I did, I even tested two different pillows and made a decision on which one is more comfortable of the two after resting my noggin on them for a total of maybe 60 seconds or so; an impossible decision! …but one that will come to one as the bed-and-pillow-expert looks one in the eye sternly, asking which one was more comfortable and enumerating various technical details one can’t significantly make sense of]. So on the word of my good mother I headed on out over to Betten Thaler and trialled out this mattress and it was celestial then as it still is now. Funny thing was that, on the way out, I was offered an apple from their apple basket. I thought to myself what a good ploy this was, to reinforce the familiarity and good-will of small town amity…. Until I stepped out of the store and, rather hungry, eagerly dug it out of my pocket only to find, with an oncoming laugh, that the thing was very spotty and mostly mushy and, in bright daylights, thoroughly unappetizing. Which doesn’t matter because this mattress, unlike the Magi, is supposed to last at least another decade, by which time I’ll probably have all but forgotten the rotten apple whereas I’ll have spent thousands of hours on this slice of heaven….. Ok….. so my complementary half is beggging me to call it a night….

 

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About tmabona

writer, reader [bolano, DW, bellow, deLillo], runner, badmintoneer
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