A bed of fire

My back, my scapula area, is jacked up. Nothing like a bike header or anything in particular. Just woke up this weekend and owie. Fookin bed.

Alethea and I, my future wife and love of my life!, are thinking we want, more than any other, a new bed and recognize we want one instead of a third blender, walnut wood cigarette dish, and kissing frog sculpture that says, "I am stuck on you". I agree, that's not even a great saying on a kissing frog sculpture.

A bed would save my life at this piont. I hate the thought of lying down on what is in the bedroom. I am pretty sure it pretends to be flat when I am looking at it. It is in collusion with the sheets and pillows, puffing up in the middle to appear firm and lovely. Either that or the box spring has incredible abs, a six-pack Arnold would be proud to have at his disposal. You ever do those ab exercises, a plank? Maybe the matress farts and it poofs up the middle area. In any case, the bed is a spoon and I am an alphabit destined to spin and float in the middle.

I like the spoon in a way. It pushes Ms. Fox and I closer together as the night slides to morning when I find myself face-to-face with soft and dark, smell good and smooth, happy sleepy love. I would sleep on a fork to have that in my life. So, in this regard it ain't that bad at all. But.

So please, if you care about (making) children, for just pennies a day, you can sponsor a new pad for our pad. If you have ever woken up and said, "Crap my back hurts" then help us avoid that anguish. If you see sleep as an escape not as a prison, help us help us won't you?