Sep 19, 2014 3 min read

There is that feeling you get when you’re in love with someone. You think about them all the time. You fantasize about spending more time with them. From the moment you leave them, you can’t wait to see the object of your affection again. Yeah. I think I’m in love with my bed. The object of my affection is an actual object. I’m having an affair with my mattress.

I think my infatuation stems from the fact my bed and I don’t spend that much time together, and absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m going to bed too late and getting up too early. I don’t know about you, but I feel like right after I set the alarm, it’s ringing again. The problem with sleeping is I do it unconsciously, and I don’t get to really enjoy it.

I like to get up in the middle of the night and realize, “Hey, it’s the middle of the night!” Resting my head back down at 2 a.m. always makes me happy. I feel like I have time to savor it. Suddenly its 6 a.m. and I’m swatting at the alarm clock, hoping to kill it. If I’m not in love with my bed, I do, at the very least, have a little hatred for my alarm clock.

I remember when I was a kid and my brother and I had a clock radio. It was set to WDVE. I swear I woke up every morning to “Stairway to Heaven.” I learned to loathe that song. I go into convulsions whenever I hear any Led Zeppelin song.

I was folding the sheets back into place this morning and hoping to unmake the bed and crawl back in. I fluffed the pillows and thought, “I can’t wait to be back here by your side.”

The moment it turned chilly, I wanted to return to my bedside. I want to throw the covers over my head and enjoy the company of my nightly companion, the bed itself. I blame the weather mostly. It’s colder than I would like it to be. I suspect it’s going to be a long winter, and I am ready for a long winter’s nap.

I may be a fickle fiend. I don’t miss my bed that much in the summer. I couldn’t wait to jump out and start my day, especially on the few warm weekends. I never gave my bed a second thought. The cold weather is stoking an unquenchable lust for sleep.

I know what would happen if I told a child I was in love with my bed. That kid would say, in a sing-song voice, “If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?”

I am a realist. I know that in five to 10 years, it’s going to get soft in the middle and I’m going to have to ditch my mattress. You never want to tell the object of your affection that you are ditching it for a younger, firmer model.