Being concerned with what you’re sleeping on top of is one of those surprise hallmarks of adulthood. I honestly have no idea, now, how I slept in a dorm for four years on a grid of springs covered loosely in fabric. I’m not entirely convinced that stone was not also a part of the construction. Maybe I just hadn’t had any better. Now I have my bed that is importantly unique from all others. I’m not sure when this happened, but I’ve gotten pretty possessive of it.

Moving, as I intend to soon, makes one realize things about their possessions, though. Partly just how damn many one has, or which of them will not fit conveniently into boxes. But for things like my bed…is it still going to be the same if it relocates to another place? Is it my bed because of what it is or because of where it is? I have to hope that this inanimate object I spend so much of my time on top of remains not only comfortable physically, but psychologically in the new digs. Perhaps one makes a space ones own by adding such significant items into it. Only time will tell.

As a less serious non-sequitur, adding “king” to things has lost its luster in almost every field but mattresses. King size candy bars do not make me wish to don my crown and address the serfs, but something about a bed that is that size still resonates.

Maybe this is my apparent mattress obsession talking again.