Last week, I had my toe amputated.
(Stay with me.)
Today, I discovered I have been sleeping at a Sleep Number setting of FIVE for what appears to be multiple fiscal quarters.
For those unfamiliar with Sleep Number technology, five is not a “preference.” Five is what happens when you accidentally brush the remote in 2021 and never emotionally recover.
For years I have wondered:
Why does this mattress feel like hard plastic?
Why does my upper back hurt?
Why does my side look like a geological depression?
Turns out: I have been sleeping on what can best be described as a gently inflated pool float.
Setting five is not “soft.”
It is “suggestion of air.”
This afternoon, while lying flat on my back with my foot elevated like a Renaissance painting of convalescence, I realized something was off. The mattress claimed it was at 100.
Reader, it was not.
I had been inflating the wrong side.
My side was at five.
My husband’s side was fine.
Naturally.
I inflated my side to 100, briefly considered leaving his there as a social experiment, and then decided I am, in fact, a good person.
At 100, I felt like I was lying on a folding table.
We negotiated down to 85.
Peace was restored.
Meanwhile, I had convinced myself I might need shoulder surgery. (I have already had a C6/7 fusion because I like drama.)
But no.
I just needed air.
And a better pillow.
And to stop holding my phone above my face like I was training for Thoracic Olympics.
In conclusion:
My mattress is fine.
My spine is dramatic but intact.
My toe is gone.
My pride is wounded.
I have saved approximately $4,000.
If you need me, I will be napping at 85 like a fiscally responsible adult.
And if you own a Sleep Number bed, please check your settings.
You may also be living at five.
Absurdities and Fires 