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May. 6th, 2003 08:40 amI've been waking up most mornings lately tired and achey all over, and while this may be attributable to Time's Fell Hand doing a number on my body, it may be that I just need a new mattress. Because the current one is, like, 15 years old, and getting saggy (just like me).
I have not bought a new one, however, because it strikes me that for my entire adult life I've been sleeping on a box-springs-and-mattress-on-the-floor setup of the kind seen in tenement-house crash-pads-cum-shooting-galleries, as featured in NYPD Blue and other fine urban documentaries. And with my 50th birthday impending, it might be time to splurge on an actual bed, of the kind that sits up off the floor and everything, and conveys an air of adulthood, rather than of heroin addict/college student.
However, it also strikes me that I can't really buy a new bed as long as the ancient tottery cat is still in the picture, because as it is she can just barely clamber up onto the box-springs-mattress-on-the-floor, and anything with greater height to it would defeat her utterly, and god forbid I should do anything that would remove from my life the nightly experience of 2:30-a.m. Siamese yowlings right in my ear, along with a waft of rotten-cat-food breath.
(And no, I am not going to even think about building a little cat-handicapped-ramp. I draw the line somewhere.)
So I'll just continue to be creaky and achey for a while. (As I think about it, this pointless little anecdote feels somehow emblematic of my whole life these days.)
I have not bought a new one, however, because it strikes me that for my entire adult life I've been sleeping on a box-springs-and-mattress-on-the-floor setup of the kind seen in tenement-house crash-pads-cum-shooting-galleries, as featured in NYPD Blue and other fine urban documentaries. And with my 50th birthday impending, it might be time to splurge on an actual bed, of the kind that sits up off the floor and everything, and conveys an air of adulthood, rather than of heroin addict/college student.
However, it also strikes me that I can't really buy a new bed as long as the ancient tottery cat is still in the picture, because as it is she can just barely clamber up onto the box-springs-mattress-on-the-floor, and anything with greater height to it would defeat her utterly, and god forbid I should do anything that would remove from my life the nightly experience of 2:30-a.m. Siamese yowlings right in my ear, along with a waft of rotten-cat-food breath.
(And no, I am not going to even think about building a little cat-handicapped-ramp. I draw the line somewhere.)
So I'll just continue to be creaky and achey for a while. (As I think about it, this pointless little anecdote feels somehow emblematic of my whole life these days.)