I'm laying forward in my old twin bed from high school in my Mama's house. The story of my "bedding" situation is actually quite interesting. My first "big girl" bed was a simple twin mattress on a box spring which lasted me until the 9th grade. The summer before 10th grade, I was spending a week in Ocean City with my friend Traci H. and my dad's family. I returned to find that my mother and older cousin, who was living with us at the time, had gone into my room to find some ants crawling on the window sill and in my bed. The decided by what fashion I've no idea to literally throw the entire bed away (granted, at that point it was at least ten years old). I returned to a room that was furnished with an old dresser that my parents had picked up from the side of the road when I was a little girl which my father had re-painted white in our humid garage. All of the knobs and handles were absent from the dresser when it was found, so my parents decided to grab some neon colored shoe strings and pull them through the holes and tie knots in them to "secure" them so that I could open the drawers. The paint was so thick on the entire piece that it never dried the right way and getting to any article of clothing always posed a challenge. Suffice it to say that only that dresser and a bookshelf of some sorts which held various music boxes I seemed to have collected in childhood filled my room.
For the next two years, I spent my nights on the floor. I didn't think much of it, except my mother and cousin had thrown the bed away and it simply hadn't been replaced.
Some time during my junior year at LCA, I must've gone on a youth retreat. When I returned my mother showed me a twin mattress and metal stand for it. That is what has been the only sitting/laying furniture in my room for the duration of these last 9 years. All that time later and the bed seems even harder than it was when I first received it. I had always kept my bed in the farthest corner of my room, right up against the wall. It made it easier to pretend that I was surrounded by something. However, since my life has apparently moved on and I no longer reside at my Mama's house in Jersey for longer than two week stints a couple of times a year, my younger brother has begun to take it over. I returned this summer to a room full of "stuff." My bed has been cast into the center of the room, since m y beloved corner is now being inhabited by my Phanatic brother's Phillies paraphernalia. Here I am, on my last night in Jersey, surrounded by weirdly shaped lamps (does Timothy have a thing for them?), old CD racks, books, abandoned gadgets and gifts, an artist desk, office chair, and suitcase that looks as though it had thrown up all over the floor. I have the ceiling fan going as well as a large box-style fan right next to the bed to compensate for our AC not working upstairs. Our downstairs pumps away trying to get to the set temperature of 59 F.
I'm not sure that this post had much poignancy or meaning, other than me being awake this late on the eve before I fly back to Tulsa hoping that my man's MacBook charger wasn't really broken and somehow these sounds that Skype makes when users sign on (which can only be described as a "bubbling" noise) would be him... Sadly it is not my Chunky Monster and I will have to wait until he gets off of work tomorrow night to see him.