I have many memories/ associations with the various beds I have spent time in.
first being the insane amount of stuffed animals I placed on top of my queen-sized bed every morning, after the pillows were neatly placed against the wall.
then, that sad moment when that bed moved out, to make space for the extra inhabitant of our house—Freya. from that twin bed, I remember wishing the volume of her headphones would decrease, as well as waking to aching spots on my shins where I accidentally kicked the windowsill.
and then, back to the dreamlike state of a queen sized bed, and even space for a small chair. days floated by in serene, content sleep.
and BOOM. college. lofted twin. so lucky I had a railing. and enough room to sit up without hitting the spiky plaster ceiling in Carroll.
one day, upon arriving home, I learned that my room had been taken over. my cerulean oasis, gone.
although this was a shock, it meant the king bed in the guest room was officially mine. to sprawl, and even sleep sideways without thinking twice.
also, that queen sized bed where I was generally always warm and comfortable. bright some mornings, but easily fixed with a dark sheet and some thumb tacks.
Senior year can be marked as the year with the crater. even though I had a beautiful quilt, something was missing… the middle of the bed. the best night was when I puppy sat kaya and she took the hole in the middle while I snuggled up beside her on the edge.
Back to the king for a few blissful weeks; then off to where I now lay. single mattress, on the floor. similar to a box spring.
although what you do when you are out of it makes you who you are, your bed is quietly important.