My Sinkhole Mattress

Trapped in "The Pit" (Messed-Up But Managing #5)

There are bad mattresses, and there’s my mattress. Hear me out. I have a mattress so committed to ruining my life that, if scientists did enough research, I’m pretty sure they’d discover it’s sentient and it hates me. This mattress came with exactly one feature: The Pit. No matter where I start the night, I wake up in The Pit. I know you know what I’m talking about. The middle sags like a hotel bed that’s been hosting corn-fed truckers since the 80s. At this point, I’m not even sure if it’s accurate to call it a mattress. Topographical hazard is more fitting.

When my wife is home, we both slide toward the middle like we’re in some kind of slow-motion sinkhole. At least then, I have company in my misery. When she’s gone doing her third shift gig at the hospital a few nights each week, it’s technically a little better, but only in the way that drowning alone is “a little better” than drowning with someone clinging to you. The Pit still pulls me in. It’s like the bed just assumes, Oh, you want to be crushed inward? Say no more.

And then there’s the dog. Because of course, in The Pit, there’s always the dog. At some point, I wake up to find her nestled against me, sleeping like a rock. She has chosen the exact center of The Pit, her small, furry body somehow doubling the gravitational pull. And the worst part? She sleeps better than I do. She’s out cold, legs twitching, probably dreaming of chasing rabbits. I get jealous then pissed off then can’t go back to sleep. I just lie there wondering if I should just accept my fate and register The Pit as a permanent address.

All this is probably why I don’t sleep well. That, and the fact that my blanket isn’t quite long enough. Every night, I have to make a choice: warm feet or warm shoulders? You’d think living in Hawai’i that wouldn’t be a problem. But it is; it can get chilly here when the sun sets. Yes, I could buy a bigger blanket, but that’s exactly the kind of practical solution I refuse to consider while complaining. Enough about blankets!

Let’s be honest, let’s tell it like it is: mattresses are one of life’s great hassles. First, they cost a fortune. It’s unreal how much a mattress cost! It’s like, Hey, do you want to sleep well or do you want your kid to go to college? Sleep well? That’ll be your entire savings! And, second, even if you cough up the money, getting the mattress home is another nightmare. Can I get an amen? Seriously, if you don’t pay for delivery, you’re suddenly tasked with strapping it to the roof of your car like you’re reenacting a scene from National Lampoon’s Vacation. And when you get home, third, you’re going to need divine intervention to maneuver it through your front door. Suddenly, your house becomes an obstacle course requiring a minor in trigonometry and 3 neighbors just to get the thing through doorways.

And fourth: now you have an extra mattress. The universe is cruel that way! What do you even do with an extra mattress? Leave it on the curb like it’s an invitation to lodge there? Or do you just hope someone drives by and goes, “Oh, wow, an unclaimed sagging pile of sadness—I want it!” Because, horrifyingly, some people do take them. That blows my mind! Some people take used mattresses; other people buy used mattresses. On Craigslist. On eBay. I cannot, for the life of me, wrap my head around this. A mattress is basically a diary of things nobody but you should know. It has witnessed things. It knows too much. And yet, people are out here scrolling Facebook Marketplace like, Ooh, what a steal! Only $50 for this flimsy slab of back pain and regret!

I know I need a new mattress. I know this. But the process is exhausting. So instead, I just accept my fate. Three nights a week, my wife is at work, and I tell myself I’m going to spread out and sleep like a king. And every time, The Pit gets me. The mattress forms a mutiny and reminds me whose kingdom it really is. True kings don’t roll toward the center like a marble in a bowl! True kings aren’t already pre-sore for the morning. True kings don’t have short blankets riding up just enough to leave their feet exposed.

But that’s how I wake up: cold feet, aching spine, stuck in The Pit, knowing that the only thing worse than not buying a new mattress is buying one. So, I don’t.