Bed's dead, baby

When I moved to LA, I was lucky enough to move into a friend's apartment. I was even luckier that the friend moved out first and left me a number of big ticket furniture items, such as a bed.

Having a bed here on my first night in an otherwise near-empty apartment was a comfort, at least until I lay down on it and promptly rolled into the concave center. Not exactly comfortable, but tired, I ignored the laws of gravity only to wake up to sound of squeaky springs every time I moved during the night. Consequently, I flipped the mattress, bought a foam pad, and hoped for the best, and eventually I grew used to the constant noise and gravitational pull.

Until last week. Sometime around Tuesday I woke up with severe back pain. I started thinking maybe I needed new running shoes, or maybe I was stressed out from work. By Friday morning when I woke up near tears I realized that my bed was to blame. No longer could I ignore the quirky coils, it was time to suck it up and buy a big girl bed.

Saturday I did just that. And tomorrow it is being delivered, so I am staying home all day in anticipation of my first good night's sleep in a year and a half. Girl, I'll be a woman, soon.

(Did you spot the first Pulp Fiction reference or was I too obscure?)