Normal. Up till Boulder I had a normal bed. My bed on East Park Avenue had a dark, ornate wood head and footboard. I ended up getting rid of the footboard and using a hollywood bed with the headboard just leaning against the wall because of my heels. When I landed on my back on US 1 after the head-on collision on the Night of the Everglades, I banged my heels hard on the pavement; they were sore for years. They gave me heel cups on the ER 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 1970 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. My wisdom 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 my wisdom 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 on my way to 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 go 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 my wisdom made me buy 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 my wisdom got me. I get in bed to meditate a half dozen times most days. It's the only still meditation I do. My meditation may include a nap. My body makes that call. I was meditating to music in bed for several months. That was for recovery. That's when I was listening to a lot of Max Richter. I listened to the full 8+ hours of Sleep three times, and I listened to shorter pieces, like On the Nature of Daylight over and over. I needed a lot of soothing. Now I'm listening to Mitsuko Uchida's Mozart. I've been listening to the piano concerti. She's unbelievably good. I'm not a musician, and it's way too late to become one, so I'm just a consumer of that music. I don't have room for much of that in my life. Just a little restful interlude here and there to soothe me for more writing.