The Princess and the Piece of Plywood

It has to be plywood, right? Or possibly cement? When I lie on the bed in our vacation cabin after a tiring day of travel, I think, You gotta be kiddin'!

No, not kidding. I stretch out expecting some sort of give in the mattress. Something. Anything. Nothing. N-o-t-h-i-n-g! How can a piece of furniture designed to bestow a good night's sleep be so unforgiving? The floor must be softer.

I try to sleep. I toss. I turn. My mood rapidly deteriorates. Why does the fan have to be whirling away? I'm freezing. Why can't my bedmate vanish into thin air so I don't have to suffer in silence?

And what is the crunching sound in my ears? Why is my hair soaked? Despicable thick plastic pillow protectors! Protection from what? Me from bugs? Them from slobber? I can't stand another second. I flee to another room. Same darn bed. This is just plain wrong. Whatever fraction of z's I catch are further fractured by nightmares.

On night #2 my son lifts the extremely thick and horrendously heavy futon pad to the bedroom for me. Now I really feel like the princess with her pea of a mattress resting beneath the cushioned barrier, the softness a definite improvement. It, however, subtracts from the overall sleeping space. Claustrophia of the mattress ensues coupled with the paranoid notion that I could quite certainly fall off!

No fan freezes me this night, but the uncirculating air feels stagnant, heavy. I can't open windows. Anyone walking by could see right in. Rational Mind realizes positively no one would ever walk by to peer in. Too bad Irrational Mind prevails.

Next, the pillow crunches one too many times. Me and my damp head storm out barely disturbing catatonic bedmate. He's enjoying the five inch thick futon pad all night long. I claim the 2X4 on the other side of the wall. Why, God, oh why?

I double every blanket I can find and zip off the plastic pillow protectors, feeling nearly as guilty as when tearing off the Do-not-remove-under-penalty-of-law pillow tags. What is that all about anyway? Have the pillow police ever arrested anyone? Intimidation, pure and simple. It worked on me for years.

But not tonight. Not in my cabin where the yellowy plastic bags are neatly folded in a corner of the room until I make next week's visitors miserable by re-zipping them around the soft, quiet pillows that never did anything to anyone to deserve such an incarcerated fate.

Quiet cabin, other occupant asleep, the minutes turn to hours. Where are those leaping little sheep when you need them?

~ Maureen :)