two parts about my bed

Monday, Mar. 01, 2004 2:51 pm

"my bed" 02.01.04

my bed is an interim government; not really a bed, but acting as one. Actually, it's an air matress. From K-Mart.

the problem with this air matress, is that it now deflates over-night, every night. I fill it up before I crash, and when I wake up, I can feel the floor under me, the matress kinda raised around me. Like those tempur-pedic swedish bed infomercials, you know, originally developed by NASA. Except more plastic then foam, and more deflating then conforming.

the other night, I was reading the instructions underneath it, near where I would put more air in, hoping to find some clue as to why this air matress keeps deflating.

"FLOTATION TOY
WARNING
DO NOT USE WITHOUT
COMPETENT SUPERVISION

Not a life preserving device Do not leave in water when not in use."

et cetera.

so... wait a minute...

Maybe, I'm thinking, the problem is because my bed [which isn't really a bed], the air matress, isn't really an air matress. It's a fucking pool float.

I've decided to install a small pool in my room now, and use my bed properly.

* * *

"Of air mattresses and pool floats"
02.29.04

Today, I threw the pool float into the trash. Went back upstairs and unpacked a queen size air mattress, made by Swiss Army, and which came with it's own electric pump built into the side. It's powered by four D batteries, and when something requires four D batteries, you know it's not fucking around.

Put the batteries in, turned on the pump, and the hum of the motor kicked in. I watched it fill, and I felt like Dr. Frankenstein, rasing my hands into the air, lightening bolts crashing outside my window, crying; "it's alive!! HAHAHAHA! It's ALIVE!!"

The lightening stopped, I lowered my arms, and stared at the inflated mattress. I poked it, testing its firmness. It didn't grunt, or move, or rise like a mummy. In a way, I was glad. If it had, there was only one way that could end. Angry mobs. Angry mobs with torches. Torches and pitchforks. It always ends that way.

It was, however, not firm enough. I turned the pump back on. Buzzing motor, lightening bolts, raised arms. "It's alive! It's alive!". Turned off the motor. Staring, quietly.

Poked it again. Oh yeah.

I climbed on top of it, and sighed. This was an air mattress, alright. I was comforted by the thought that, if I tried to float on this in a pool, I'd probably be electrocuted. Yes yes. Now that's a real bed.

I was saddened for a moment, as I remember that I was going to Ikea next weekend to buy a traditional bed. One without pumps, and electricity, and air. But instead filled with... well, I'm not entirely too sure what a real bed is filled with. I turned my head and looked at the bed around me. I was struck by the thought that these beds might have animosity towards each other. Air mattresses see pool floats as imposters. Traditional beds see air mattresses as second rate, a step above a sleeping bag. Sofa beds are the incestuous bastards of two cousins, the bed and the couch. The black sheeps from the family of sleepy comfort. I kept the Ikea plan safely locked in my head, careful not to utter it within hearing range. I sat up and looked at the air mattress, inspecting the pump on the side. Laid back down and stared at the ceiling. I was consumed by a fear for my life.

If it got wind of my plan, certainly, this thing could still figure out a way to electrocute me.


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dland exuant omnes your voice drifts away into lost binary alleyways it echoes photography

last five:
A Winter Letter - Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2007
almost but not quite - Wednesday, Mar. 22, 2006
rural times, blue skies. it feels so warm over my hair - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005
smiles and gone - Monday, Feb. 07, 2005
I caught my love in North Carolina - Monday, Nov. 29, 2004

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