mattress topper

The Guy is currently enthusiastic about the purchase of a new mattress topper made of some kind of foam that will increase the comfort level of our current chiropractic nightmare.

"It'll help us sleep better. We'll get good rest and you won't wake up tired like you do right now. Then maybe the midnight beatings will stop."

Midnight beatings? What midnight beatings?

"You know, the arms whacking me, the kicking, the way you take over the bed and punish me because sleeping on the futon makes you restless."

What?

"Anyway, maybe with the mattress topper you'll sleep better and we won't have to get a new mattress."

Which is a worthy goal from his point of view. Me, I'm more entertained by the name of the thing. Mattress topper. Bwah! (Because I'm 12 years old.) Besides which -- and I didn't have the heart to tell him this -- having a new, more comfortable bed won't make much of a difference. I'm just a sprawler.

The Guy persists on thinking the Cthulhu sleeping style is related to some sort of unconscious unhappiness with the environment. My mattress situation hasn't been a good one since I moved to California, a little over five years ago. There was the extended period of time when I didn't actually have a bed at all, and sort of lolled about on an foam camping mattress my Mom packed in my car in a fit of inspiration. That lasted for almost a year. Then Tara and Remington had to get rid of a futon-and-frame that Remington had owned since his days in MIT, back in the 1860s.

"Hear you need a bed," quoth they.

"Gimme," quoth I, because sleeping practically on the floor in an uninsulated, cockroach-infested tenement in the heart of San Francisco is not my idea of luxury.

This served me just fine for the next year in San Francisco, followed by a year or two in Redwood City. The futon was just far enough off the floor that the cockroaches, who can be tenacious in their search for a human orifice to breed or crap in -- warm! dank! dark! private! -- were mostly thwarted. When the Guy moved in a little less than a year ago, he brought his own futon with him. His was in marginally better repair, and slightly larger to boot. It's about 15 years old. We went with it instead.

My back hurts. My neck hurts. My head hurts. However, I probably would have thrashed anyway. I've tried to explain this to him.

"It's coming on Friday! I'm excited! We're going to have a mattress topper!"

"Yeah. But see, what I'm trying to tell you is--"

"Aren't you excited? I'm excited. I'm getting excited. I'm excited!"

"Yeah."

"Mattress topper! Isometric foam mattress topper! Want to see the web page?"

Some of you are probably out there thinking, "30 years old and sleeping on a futon?" To those people, I say, bite me. The futon was and is a traditional sleeping mattress in Japan, where there are no cockroaches and where generations of little Japanese men and women have slept in perfect, highly educated, well employed comfort. It's only in the US where the futon has become the refuge of the unemployed college student and first apartment 20 year old.

Besides, this is only my second apartment, and it's not like what happens on the Island of the Purple Monkeys could be considered work in any way, shape, or form. More like torture. Didn't we sign some sort of thing in Geneva--?

Hm. Maybe I'm an enemy combatant. That could explain so much.

I'm headed for New Jersey for two weeks starting tomorrow.

New Jersey.

Two weeks.

(My life is crap.)

I've heard from some people -- New Yorkers, mostly -- that New Jersey isn't all that bad. That is to say, they yelp, "New Jersey?" and then start mumbling incoherencies under their breath. Since usually New Yorkers are unambiguous about their feelings, I choose to assume this means that they are unused to the requirement of saying something good about someone.

"Well, it doesn't suck."

You know, that sort of thing.

In the meantime, I'm packing sweaters, workout clothes, and an Aikido uniform. It turns out that there's a conveniently situated Aikido dojo only a few miles away from the hotel. I've called ahead, and they'll tolerate my clumsy presence for the space of a couple of weeks. If I travel much more, I'll be able to claim I've been beat up by every state in the union.

Wonder if there's an Aikido dojo in Alaska?