In the bedroom

My bedroom is unfinished, a subtle parlance for "ran out of money to spend on furniture because I'll be unemployed soon." You can see it here, in this crappy mobile photo:

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You can also see the shirt I cast aside after work because I live free now, the way god intended, and the folding patio chair I bought for $24 the first day I came to town so I'd have something to sit on while I watched three hours of The Big Bang Theory on an enormous TV in an otherwise empty living room. I keep it here for the pillows, not an imaginary friend.

This looks sad, I know. I shot it at an angle so you could gauge the size of the room, somewhat, which is large and aside from the bed mostly empty. I failed, obviously; instead it looks like I'm suspended from the ceiling, like a spider woman or a bat woman or even an ant woman, I suppose, and there's a whole chunk of room to the left that's cropped out. You'll have to trust me that it's a large space and mostly empty, and be impressed that I bothered to make the bed. Jk, I always make the bed. I'm not sure how the universe would survive if I didn't.

Anyway, we've come here today to talk about this bed: the Chapman bed, from Room & Board, which has a steel frame that weighs approximately 8,000 lbs., and a detachable headboard upholstered and stocked in "Sumner charcoal," whatever that means. It smelled a bit, for a couple of weeks, that headboard. Some reviewers have commented about this on their website ("The makers need to sort this out!" insists "Keen to sleep" in the Chicago area), and the delivery guy mentioned it, but the paint and the carpet were also new so the apartment smelled regardless. At a certain point, what's one more smell. Buy some air freshener, Keen. Dig deep.

It's a beautiful bed, though: sturdy and soundless. It's so heavy I'm afraid sometimes it'll drop through the floor, but so far {knock on wood}. The room itself is very dark, with a low ceiling that opens to a huge fanlight dormer window on the south side, which at first I found charming but soon had to cover over with a flimsy paper shade from Home Depot because I was rising with the sun. Not what the lord intended. Now it's like sleeping in a Holiday Inn, on the ground floor just off the pool, or like a bunker inside a cave inside the mouth of a dragon, or whatever that thing is that swallows the Millennium Falcon in Episode Vee; i.e.; it is tremendous. There's a tree right outside the window and just beyond that a small man-made pond with a fountain that runs during the day, and altogether this too-large, very dark room is a haven of peace and tranquility, truly. (This morning, a text from CV: "You do love the sleeping and the naps!")

But what I've actually come here to talk about today is the mattress, this mattress, which is as they say - Firm. Too much, maybe, I said to myself at first, when it arrived with the bed. And I am A Sleeper who likes a firm mattress! But there's firm and then there's cement. 

Which leads me to the thing I've honestly come here to talk about today, which is that I finally realized the secret to sleeping successfully on a very firm mattress, which is that you must sleep on sheets that are soft in equal yet antipodal measure. That is, the sheets should be as soft as the bed is hard. Do you get me? There is no other way. In the beginning I tried a set of cheap sheets from Target, which were scratchy and angry, as if rest were the enemy and I a mere pawn in some thread count tug-of-war I had never agreed to play. So I ordered these Brooklinen luxe sheets instead, which cost an insane small fortune, I'm aware. Who am I, King Louis the XVI? Yes, yes I am. Meet your small dead ruler of France. I paid the price, though, since the sly weavers who shipped them to me then proceeded to email and fax approximately 65 times a day, requesting my review, which naturally I refused to give before I finally blocked them for good. Ask and ye shall never receive.

Yet here it is now: try these sheets. And if you want to, this very firm mattress. And while you're at it, this two-ton bed. You will lose your job and your livelihood and eventually your home, I expect, because you'll never get up in the morning, and in the end you’ll probably just dissolve there, but it's worth it. I promise.

p.s. This is not a sponsored post. Who would pay for this garbage?