I got a new mattress today. Or rather, it arrived. Dad picked it up on his way home, and we put it on my bed.
It’s the same mattress I’ve had all my life, ever since I was big enough to go in a real bed. It’s the same bed I’ve had since I was nine. And it now has a nice new mattress – plush for that first inch of “travel” (as it were; god, the bike geek in me comes out again), and then firm and responsive.
And I’m lying on it now. Lying on it in my room, the room I’ve had all my life. The mattress is bare; it needs to air for a while before you cover it the first time. I took the time with no mattress to tidy my room majorly, clear some more shelves, and put another fifty-odd books away. That led to me doing something I’d never wanted to do – double-stacking. There’s no other way to make things fit, other than to have two rows of books, one in front of the other. Sad, but it has to be like that.
So: the room is dim bar my bedside light and the glow of my Powerbook’s LCD, I’m lying on my bed, listening to Kruder & Dorfmeister, typing wirelessly onto the internet. Oh, and I have a new kick-ass haircut.
I may be a geek, but if the nine-, twelve-, fifteen-year-old me looked in through the doorway now, he’d have probably thought me quite cool. Well, he’d be surprised how well he’d dress when he was older.
And now, even though I’m hoping to hit the next phase of life, to move out of the family home – my home for twenty-one years and four months – I have a new mattress to bed in. Perhaps soon I’ll be employed and not be around to use the new mattress. If I’m still here, I’ll make good use of the mattress, dreaming of the days when I won’t wake up on it. It almost seems like I’ve jinxed myself.
Never mind. It was going to happen anyway; my back was growing to hate the old one.