My inflatable bed has had a leak for the past week. I have patched it several times, but no matter how many slabs of rubber or slatherings of rubber cements, I can't keep the air under me. The patch itself is not leaking--there are no bubbles. This means there is more than one breech in the outter hull. The great vaccuum of space will destroy the entire crew, and though the great loss of life causes me unending grief, I must admit I am more upset about waking up on an ultra-soft pile of deflating back-ache. I'm going out today to consider other sleeping options, and possibly to spend money. I have been sleeping on the ground these last two nights, my entire collection of blankets folded beneath me, save my thick comforter, which is serving as my only actual blanket.
I actually enjoy sleeping on the floor. Maybe the Japanese in me is once again making its presence known. Maybe all those sleeping bag nights from my camping days have predisposed me to this more primal arrangement. Maybe its because I'm fucking sick of sleeping on this sinking piece of shit, and anything that won't sag is a beautiful thing to me.
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