Saturday, September 20, 2014

Goodnight, Sweet Prince...

The bed when we arrived.

I think insomnia is a sign that a person is interesting.
~ Avery Sawyer

Last night I said I might write about La Boqueria Market today, but I changed my mind. Sorry. I need another day at the market first. Besides, we had a bit of a rough evening last night. 

We decided to go to bed at 10:30, roughly about the time Alma Afrobeat Ensemble started playing in Plaça Catalunya which is about a half block from our apartment.  To add to the fun, there was a second concert by Baloji beginning at 1:30am. Luckily the street cleaners broke up the party at 3:00 or so.  That, however, was the easy part.

The bed after we added the blanket and pillows under it.

"I think these people bought the old mattress from my mother's house," Mike yelled to me as he went to bed a few minutes before I did.  The mattress at his mother's was old, and we rolled to the iddle whenever we slept there. 

I got in bed, and sure enough, I rolled to the middle.  "Great," I said. I have a hard time sleeping in strange beds to begin with, and one like that would not be fun.  "I'm taking a sleeping pill."  I take 1/2 an Ambien when I have a really hard time sleeping, and last night qualified.  I fell asleep but kept waking up every time I turned because I not only rolled to the center but also because the bed squeaked if you so much as breathed.  (Of course, I did have music to entertain me each time I woke.)

"You awake?" Mike asked me at some point this morning.

"Oh, yes," I replied. "It's not too easy to sleep on this thing."

Mike getting in the smelly elevator
"Yep," he answered, "I think this mattress is as old as the building. There's a blanket in the closet. I was thinking I might put it under the mattress to plump it up a bit."  I didn't say anything because, quite frankyl, I thought it would never work as the blanket wasn't really thick. "I might need you to help me."

The worst thing he could have said to me was that he wanted me to help him. If I saw a tear or a dirty mattress, I'd be sleeping in a chair for the next five nights. I knew, though, that I would have to help because he couldn't hold up the mattress and put the blanket down at the same time. (Note: The mattresses here do not have box springs. They sit on slats.)

Mike enclosed in the elevator
"Oh, geez," I whined.  "Don't make me do that. You know how squeamish I am. Why don't we hire one of those bogus sales guys to hold up the middle while we sleep?"  He ignored me and walked into the bedroom.

"It's okay," he called from there. "Come on and throw the blanket under there." 

I walked back and looked at the thin blanket. "It's not going to help," I insisted.  "Let's put the two throw pillows under there, too."  I threw them under and backed away.

"Great," Mike said. "Let's hope this works."

 Mike's just gone to bed, and The Jamboree Big Latin Band has started their 10:30 concert in Plaça Catalunya. The second group, La33, starts at 12:30, so the music might not go as long as last night.  Since we put the blanket and pillows under the mattress, we no longer have a valley in the middle of the bed, we now have a hill.  Instead of rolling to the middle, I'm afraid I'll just roll off of the darn thing.

Luckily European beds are about two inches off the floor, so I won't have far to go.

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