Deflate-Gate In Apartment B

My first night in my new apartment, I went to Walmart and purchased an air mattress. Not just any air mattress, but a queen sized air mattress. The fancy ones that people take on camping trips that are packed next to their phone chargers and inflatable Jacuzzi’s. The kind Tom Haverford would take on a camping trip. (Parks and Rec fans, you know what I’m talkin about.) It wasn’t crazy expensive, but it was nice enough.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when one sad day, I woke up on the floor. Mind you I didn’t fall asleep on the floor. I fell asleep on a fully inflated queen air mattress. But I woke up on the floor. Because my precious air mattress had finally succumb to the disease that all air mattresses eventually become victims of: mystery holes you cannot locate if a gun was held to your head and your mother’s. I searched that thing forever looking for the culprit but came up empty.

Now, I’m the kind of person that, when something inconvenient happens, I find a way to convince myself that its really not that bad, and that there’s probably a perfectly acceptable alternative that will make me happy again. SO, with Scientology level brainwashing, I convinced myself that I actually liked the feel of a slowly deflating air mattress. That it kind of felt like a water bed. I could live this way for the foreseeable future, sure. It’s not the worst thing that could happen. So every night before bed, I take my hand pump and refill the air, fall asleep on the fully inflated mattress as soon as possible, and wake up on the floor. Tuck and roll, go about my day, and do it again the next night.

Well, people, I’ve reached my limit. The brainwashing is wearing off and I’m finally seeing the light. I hate this. I no longer look forward to sleep. I just hope to collapse into a zombie like coma on my mattress-floor. I know this is a very first world thing to complain about. I know that people have diseases and starvation and real things to deal with. It’s just me in my decent, if not empty, well sized apartment with a full fridge and a limp air mattress. But I just wanted to document these feelings so that, as my dear friend said, when I become the next Oprah I will remember these days I spent on the struggle bus that is early adulthood.

Last night I believe I found a solution to my deflate-gate. Updates to come. Or not, I can’t make those kinds of promises.



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