Since I moved to New York, I’ve been on a budget. One that I almost entirely ignore on a day to day basis on account of the fact that there is food out there, a lot of it, and how will it ever get eaten and in my belly if I don’t get off my ass and pass over that cash? So, YOU’RE WELCOME, New York. What a thankless job.
Because of this, I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress. Right in the corner of my room, surrounded by pretty much everything I own, is my queen sized aero-bed where I lay my head every night.
I haven’t been really concerned about this style of living. To be honest, I could care less about not having a real bed. I’m comfortable enough, am not concerned with the cost of upkeep or violating a warranty, and am low enough to the ground that if a fire starts somewhere in my building, I won’t asphyxiate in my sleep on the fumes. Also, my room looks huge from here.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m ahead of the game, because only morally forsaken people have slept on mattresses. No, it’s true. Look it up in the history books, fools. Eva Braun slept on a Sealy.
I’ve been fine with my bedroom furniture until recently. I had come home from work one day to find my bed slightly deflated, sagging under the weight of my blankets and some clothes. I pushed the button to trigger the inflation, and when it was done, I heard a very slight hissing. Upon inspection, I noticed a tiny hole, no bigger than a pin would make, in the center of my mattress.
No worries. Even when laying on the mattress at night, the next morning it was still passable as a sleeping surface. My life goes on.
It got to the point that the hole began to increase in size. Making it so that a night’s sleep would be interrupted by my having to refill the mattress. So the next day, after work, I headed to the store to pick up the most logical item to fix the solution.
If you said ‘patching kit’ sold by the makers of my air mattress, you would be illogical and asked to leave this blog.
Duct tape. Of course.
So when I got home, I fixed up the hole with a few pieces of the all purpose fixer upper. That night, I refilled my mattress, put my head to rest, and had a good night’s rest. Go me and my problem solving skills!
You can learn something about yourself from every problem you encounter. Mine being that my foresight is so incredibly weak it leaves others wondering why I don’t accidentally drown myself when thoroughly washing my hair.
It wasn’t long until the hole started getting bigger. Pin sized to pencil sized. Then pencil sized to finger sized. It was at this point that my duct tape job was becoming increasingly more painstaking, turning more from simple carpentry to a challenging game of Operation. Each night was barely a success, but I stuck at it.
About a week ago, I entered into what I should have known would be the point of no return. The hole was bigger [three fingers wide] making it impossible for the tape to hold off the hissing air for longer than a few hours by itself. So again, I took what was the most obvious, logical step to remedy this issue.
At night, I would tape it up as best I could, then plug up the rest with my thigh or butt cheek.
This would entail a very strategic sleeping approach, the likes of which would probably have impressed some of the major political and war strategists of our time. Every night, after taping up the hole, I’d crawl into bed, being careful not to shift enough weight for the air to burst through my carefully made aero-bed bandage. Then, in one swift movement, I would maneuver myself over the hole, drop my cheek, and listen. After I was assured of my success, I went to sleep.
And friends, when I tell you that I kept my thigh and or butt cheek in that spot all night, I do not lie. Even in the middle of the night and REM cycle, I would toss in a way where my ass never left that hole. I’m pretty sure I now qualify for the U.S. gymnastics team, because I now bend in ways that can only be deemed ungodly. Foresight be damned.
It wasn’t until a few nights ago when the hole got so big [one adult-sized fist] that both my tape and butt plug maneuvers weren’t cutting it*. Several times a night I would make up to refill my mattress, until it got to the point where my frustration peaked, making me rip off the duct tape and quickly sink to the floor.
And now, I write to you from my deflated air mattress, on the floor, from my room. Like a bedless loser. I’ll switch makeshift beds throughout the night, moving from the small, but comfortable couch in my room to the ample sized but hard floor.
Not to worry, though. My new, wonderful mattress will be coming from Macy’s this Saturday, whereupon I will lie upon it in all it’s glory. Perhaps even break the stereotype of immoral mattress users. But probably not eating.
*I think you should all be very proud of me that I used the words ‘hole’, ‘one adult-sized fist’ and ‘butt plug’ were used in an entirely non sexual way in the same sentence. You can send over the Nobel any time you’re ready.