Table of Contents


Normal. I had a normal bed until I moved to Boulder. My bed in Tallahassee, the first one I ever bought for myself, had a dark, ornate wood frame to match the rest of my rather tasteless thrifted furniture. I ended up getting rid of the footboard, rails and slats and putting my mattress and box springs on a hollywood bed frame with the headboard just leaning against the wall because of my heels. When I landed on my back on the pavement after the head-on collision on my way back from the Everglades, I banged my heels hard on the pavement; they were sore for years. They gave me shearling heel protectors in the Vero Beach hospital because I complained so much about my heels. The heel cups helped, but for years I slept with my heels hanging off the end of my bed.

Nova. I left my furniture in Tallahassee, though I still managed to fill up a trailer with junk. When I moved west I was pulling a home made trailer I bought, a converted pickup truck bed. I was still driving my first car, a 1971 placer gold Chevy Nova. It had a 307 V-8 and 3 on the floor, the only shift pattern I ever saw that really looked like an H. It pulled my crap like a champ. I did not bring a bed. One of the women in The Community worked for a futon company and I bought a double size futon from them. Basic: all cotton, no foam. I must've adapted well to it; I don't remember any tsoris. They are kinda fluffy at first.

Downhill. That futon packed down pretty fast, and I kept it for a long time. There was a lot of backpacking going on, and it became a fad in The Community to sleep on a backpacker's closed cell foam pad at home. To condition you for the real thing, don'tcha know. Or remind you. Whatever. When Doña and I lived together on Walnut Street a few blocks from Mataam Fez our mattress was an ensolite pad. Hard fuckin' core.

Kenmore. The futon habit followed me to Seattle like the Ghost of TH Past. When I woke up in the wee hours on December 7, 2019 I woke up on a futon. It was a scrawny futon, packed down by years of use. I was still far enough under TH's spell to believe a spartan bed was virtuous. Leela convinced me otherwise. We could only communicate via muscle testing; I was in so much pain from my panic attack that body sensing wouldn't work. I finally got the message: I had to buy a used bed on Craigslist. That way she could make sure I got the right one. I found one in Kenmore that got the thumbs up. All I had to do was drive up there and get it.

Lost. But I was getting lost on my way to Fremont. I was so disoriented and mentally incapacitated by my panic attack that wasn't a panic attack I got lost between Crown Hill and Fremont. Here's the route:

Simple, right? Two days in a row I ended up on the Ballard Bridge headed for Interbay instead of Fremont. I had to get to my MA meeting via Nickerson. Driving to Kenmore was a huge challenge. I was also petrified of driving on the freeway. Going a few exits south on I-5 was a white knuckle nightmare. I got to Kenmore without getting on I-5 but got lost in Kenmore. It's a divided highway with jersey barriers. I had to make a left turn to get where I was headed. That meant going through a u-turn opening in the barrier. I missed the opening, then missed the turn which was now a right. I was so freaked out I gave up and drove home in defeat. I emailed the guy and said I would try tomorrow. I studied the route at home, memorizing what to do when. It never occurred to me to turn turn-by-turn on on my phone's GPS. I couldn't think that clearly. I got lost three times on my way the next day. I was in tears, about to give up. I stumbled onto a back way to get there. It was a lovely single bed and way too big to fit in my car. I discovered that after a half hour of trying to cram it in. I paid the guy and said I would be back tomorrow with a bigger vehicle. We arranged for him to leave it outside under a tarp so I could get it during the day while he was at work and avoid rush hour traffic. I got lost on my way to my friend's house to swap cars. I made it there. I drove her Element to Kenmore and yes, got lost again. The Element wasn't big enough either, but I hauled it home using bungee cords. That was what my life was like for six months. It was way worse at first; I could not drive at all. It slowly got better. This is me in the middle of that stretch. Writing this gave me a panic flashback.

The bed Leela chose for me is a Sealy set: box springs with a pillowtop mattress. It's the most luxurious bed I've ever owned. I adore snuggling up in it under the fleece comforter she also got me. During my panic attack I would get in bed to meditate a half dozen times most days. It was the only meditation I did, aside from walking. I still get in bed for meditations. The best ones include a nap. My body makes that call. But only two or three times a day now. I meditated to music in my new bed all through the darkest part of my panic attack. I was listening to a lot of Max Richter. I listened to the full 8 plus hours of Sleep three times, stretched out over many installments. I listened to On the Nature of Daylight too many times to count. So much need for soothing. Most of my listening now is dance music, checking out new songs for Waltz etcetera now that it's back. Having my job back is such a relief. And now, living in my new home, I take refuge in my decidedly twin bed all night every night. My bed is one of the most valuable tools for making progress with love Leela ever gave me.