I rarely sleep in my bed. It’s not like I sleep in other people’s beds, but I spend most nights asleep on my futon. The futon is named Jeffrey and was willed down to me from Aleece and Rajani, among various other Ocho house members. Last year Jeffrey resided in the Ocho’s living room, and Gerry slept on him almost every night as I slept on the couch right next to it. That couch is now stretched out where the armrests are because I was far too long for the couch and ended up pushing out either end with my head and/or my feet. Jeffrey has a lot of history, and despite the fact that I fear its inevitable collapse someday (it is missing more than a few nuts and bolts and is somehow miraculously still together), I am quite fond of him. I have nearly every blanket I own strewn about the futon, and find it all in all quite cozy, even with the backaches nearly every morning.
But this thing about not sleeping in my bed. I think it’s funny. I mean, one of the main reasons I don’t sleep in my bed is because it such a climb to get up to it. The climb is hindered by the only 30″ wide space available to grip my hands and feet, and once I manage to scale the bed, I am left wedged between ceiling and foot-board. My roommate has watched me struggle with this enough, but she insisted on having the bottom bunk. It’s quite alright, really, as we each sleep on our respective futons nearly every night. Yes, our room is large enough for all of our college-issued furniture, two futons, a liberated coffee table, and a spinning end table. Anyway, most nights we fall asleep on our futons watching some ridiculous show on TV. Last night it was a mystery show about a man who murdered his wife in Northern Michigan; the night before it was some show on the History Channel about mummies and bones and graves.
Which brings me to my next point: I have been having some ridiculous dreams lately, and it kind of freaks me out. Two nights ago I dreamed that I was driving along Lake Pontchartrain in New Orleans East out by the FBI buildings, and I thought it would be a great idea to drive out over the lake. Don’t worry; I pulled it off, hovercraft style. I managed to float above the churning waters in my car for a dreamy five minutes before pulling back onto land. Then last night I dreamed that I was kidnapped by two people who wanted me dead, but wanted to torture me rather extensively before my death. I fought back, throwing sharp knives and even attempting to shut down the central nervous system by gouging out their eyes (thank you, Albion College and the first-year experience program), but nothing would stop these two people. I woke up terrified and noticed I had two spider bites on my left arm. Perhaps I will try sleeping in my bed from now on.
And in unrelated news, some housemates and I went to La Casa Mexicana last Wednesday night. My roomie brought home her cheese quesadilla, and being too lazy to walk downstairs to the refrigerator, I suggested that she put it in the window. So, for a couple days we had a styrofoam box sitting in our window, soaking up the cool breeze. But now, the box is just on the floor by her bed. It doesn’t smell or anything (praise God), but I think I might do her a favor and throw it away for her. I have watched her eat a Taco Bell taco that’s been sitting at room temperature for a few days.
paz.
