Over Labor Day weekend, The Boy and I made the somewhat impulsive decision to buy a mattress. It was impulsive in that way where you talk about it for 5 years, and then one day without planning, just go do it. That's how we work. I got up one morning, and said, "I cannot take this fucking lumpy, mildewy futon mattress any longer, or I will shoot everyone in sight to make up for how I feel today." That Sunday we went and prostrated ourselves on several mattresses at our local store. I can't imagine what it is like to be a salesperson at a mattress store, and watching all these prone bodies feeling up beds. They kept telling me I shouldn't lie on the bed sideways, that I won't get the full experience. I promised them I could sleep no matter which way I fell on to the bed, and that yes, sometimes I do end up sideways on the bed, so I must know if it is comfortable. Being 5'3", I find I can pretty much sleep in any direction without the risk of limbs falling numb dangling from the sides. The Boy and I do not have the same mattress "needs;" he likes it firm, which does not make my arthritic hips happy. This means we settled on a very nice pillowtop (it was either that or him put up with my constant grousing).
Part of the agreement in getting this mattress was a) I buy the "fancy" sheets (including a bed skirt!) and b) sleep in bed facing the "correct" direction. For months I had been sleeping with my head at what is technically the bottom of the bed. I just liked the orientation better, plus the room is too small for bedside tables, and the only lamp sits on a set of drawers that house my socks and sweaters. I like to read in bed before going to sleep, and it is next to impossible to do that with my head up by the headboard. Sure, I could read with my head at the bottom of the bed, THEN turnaround when it was time to sleep, but that is just silly. When I am ready to sleep, it means I am comfortable in that exact position and do not want to damage the fragile relationship I have built with my sleepy self by doing a 180 in bed. This habit of mine drove The Boy crazy. I have no idea why.
Next to the light at the end of the bed was the alarm clock. The other reason to sleep the "wrong" way was so I could actually see the alarm clock. My vision is 20/550. That means I can't see my own boobs without my glasses/contacts. Having a whole bed between my head and the alarm clock made it so I could never tell what time it was unless I scooted down to the end of the bed to check. Being incredibly lazy, it made more sense for me just to keep my head near the clock.
The clock was moved to a bookshelf near The Boy's head at the top of the bed when the new mattress was delivered. The bookshelf has a lot already on it (read: The Boy's various crap), so could only fit the alarm clock and not the light. I did try to convince The Boy to let me install lights on the wall above the headboard, so I could read in bed without the shadow of his body getting in my way, and making me so cross I would never make out with him again, EVER. He was fine with that idea only if the electrical cords did not show, meaning someone would have to drill a hole in the wall, and install the lights directly to the electrical line. This means NO lights for me. Or at least not any time soon. Reading in bed has taken a serious nosedive since Labor Day.
I am willing to compromise on this light situation, but the alarm clock is another beast all together. It seems that when the clock is next to The Boy, he turns it off in his sleep. I usually wake up before the alarm goes off, and just lie there wishing how I didn't have to get up in 15 minutes or an hour or whatever. I cannot even say how many times I have been awake and witness The Boy turning the alarm clock off one second after it started to make obnoxious noises. I slap his fingers every time, but I guess his sleeping self doesn't mind, perhaps even likes that sort of punishment.
I've been suffering a terrible allergy-cold illness, and go to bed with copious amounts of allergy and cold medication in my system. Between my soft mattress and this medication, my sleep is even more blissful and tearing myself away from such sweetness is cruel. To wake up 45 minutes late because The Boy turned off the alarm clock that I never heard, and had to rely on second alarm clock known as the Diabetic Cat Scratching on the Door for His Food, is agony, torture of the kind that would make Dick Cheney blush.
Running late on a densely foggy morning is not very fun. Yet, it was still amusing to make The Boy get up and do cat duties as punishment. Tonight I will break 3 of his fingers on his left hand. They should be healed in time for his next conducting gig. If he does it again, I may be forced to amputate a pinky.
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