Who me, crazy?

For the last six months or so as I lay in bed I felt as though I might slip right out. You see, when you sat on the bed it felt fine. It was only after you laid down and tried to get comfortable that you realized something was wrong. I would mention this to Josh and he would laugh it off, and call me “crazy.” But I knew I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. I would start the night off down about a foot away from our headboard; see: wall. In the morning I would be crammed up in the corner between the wall and the night stand. I move around at night, but not that much.

I tried to figure out what was wrong with the bed, because something obviously had to be “wrong” and I was not slowly slipping into crazyland. I flipped the mattress, I flipped the box springs. I moved it around. I had finally given up and basically moved my sleeping in the middle of the bed in order to have a only slightly slopped sleeping experience rather than one that mirrored the alps ski slopes.

My sleep had become restless and downright painful because of this problem. I woke up nearly every morning with a crick in my neck from trying to keep myself from slipping of the bed. Between my time at the computer and my time in bed, my poor neck never got a break.

Yesterday I decided to clean our bedroom. I even documented the before and plan to document the after-once we finish the final stages today. I started on my side of the bed, under the night stand. I simply plunged my hand between the bed and the nightstand to pull up whatever treasure had fallen off the night stand or had be brought there by the dogs. You will never guess what the first thing I pulled out was.



The wheel to the bedframe. The wheel had fallen off! I wasn’t crazy! The bed HAD been at a slope. I had been slipping off. I grabbed the wheel and proudly walked down the hallway and forcefully showed Josh the wheel.

“Ha!” I said, “I am NOT crazy!”
“You may have been right about the bed,” he says, “But that doesn’t mean your not crazy.”