Tyler and I upgraded our sleeping situation. I can now steamroll about four people side-by-side on this mammoth, lay width-wise no problem, and stretch my arms out without touching the edges.
We've upgraded indeed, but I found a sombre lining to our cozy purchase that shrinks its glory down to size.
Amanda Palmer wrote this gorgeous song that traces a couple's love from a sleeping bag to condo to mattress to grave. Their lives expand; their love withers. One line is particularly poignant: "All the money in the world won't buy a bed so big and wide to guarantee that you won't accidentally touch me in the night." Have a listen, but be prepared to tear up!
I can't help reflecting on our beds over the years. We've always been constrained by space, to the point that when my sister slept over, she said we looked like a human pretzel asleep. The first bed was against the wall, our blanket was too small for the second, and our last sunk in the middle and forced us to roll inward. It didn't matter really, they were like cocoons, but for Ty, a dude who is 6'6, the sleeping wasn't so sound. Laughable too, was seeing his feet hanging over the edge.
A king mattress feels over-the-top indulgent; almost too much. If I take it for granted no other sleep may ever be as good.
You have to wonder: how many people are conscious of those moments when their lives got just a little bit better? If you aren't aware, all of the sudden you're in another stratosphere, wherein budgets have to stretch that much further because standards heightened, and before you know it, you can't imagine a time when you didn't have a down comforter or when you would have accepted a couch for a night. Like the song, "is this a matter of worse or of better?"
I love my big king, but you better believe we're not taking sides. Just having the space is enough, but the cuddling - and the human pretzel - stays.