You Have the Floor
I’ve been sleeping on the floor on and off for the last week or so.
I’m not being punished, our mattress is shot. It’s only two years old but it’s got two giant caters on either side where my wife and I are supposed to sleep. A night in my divot is like a night on The Rack. It’s like someone’s been beating on me for 7 or 8 hours, locking me in illegal wrestling holds.
I guess I’ve gotten more sensitive over the years to aches and pains, especially when it comes to my back. I’m not in agony all the time, it’s not like that. I’m not a whiner, constantly bitchin’ about parts of my body “actin’ up on me.” I can usually work out whatever’s bugging me. I go to yoga once or twice a week to downward-facing-dog out any kinks. But one wrong move and yoink! I’ve wrenched a muscle or twisted a tendon.
So until we can see if Sealy will honor our warranty, I’ve been camping out on the bedroom floor every night. I unroll my kid’s sleeping bag and climb in with a blanket over me. I could lie down anywhere, I guess, but I pick right next to the bed on my side, like I’m the family dog, curled up next to its master. It’s a little weird but I get a decent night’s sleep.