It Ain't Heavy, It's My Hammock
May. 25th, 2009 12:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
my_window_seatAbout 15 years ago, I made myself a vow that I would never again own any furniture that I could not lift and carry all by myself. At the time, I was in what can only be described as a "highly transitional state" - meaning, I was moving from one place to another at a minimum of every 3-6 months. While I really missed having comfortable things and a comfortable place that felt like home, it wasn't an option - and continually having to rely on (and worry about straining) the kindness of friends, relatives and well-meaning near strangers was almost as wearying as the actual moving around itself.
On the positive side, it seemed a constructive solution to a problem - and also just seemed kind of bohemienly alluring. The gypsy who lives out of milk crates, collapsible items, and a great big fuck-off hammock with its own stand that could be set up indoors or out without the need to drill holes in walls or hang from tree branches.
Filled with pillows, it's actually pretty comfy. It was what I slept in in my industrial-district studio, and served as both a bed and a "couch" in my first apartment here for almost a year.
When it looked like I'd finally found a place where I wouldn't have to move unless I chose to and it looked like I was *finally* going to get a chance to settle in and relax for a while (for a much-needed change) - I broke my vow. I broke down the hammock frame in its conveniently space-saving pieces, folded up and boxed the hammock, and bought a great big fuck-off sleeper sofa from a thrift store. And a good friend donated probably the most comfortable full-size bed I've ever had the pleasure of sleeping on, as well as a handy dresser. Because milk crates are useful, but it's also nice to have actual drawers to put things like underwear and rolled up sock balls and nicely folded items, and another flat surface to stack things on.
When I moved into this apartment two years ago, the measurements revealed that the ginormous sofa would have to go, unless I wanted to make a web of extension cords across the floor or fasten them strategically along the walls near the ceilings, as the only decent outlets for sensitive electronics were along the only wall long enough to accomodate it. And, the fucking thing weighed a ton and was as long as a goddamn mini-van - I only bought it because the thrift store vendor offered to deliver it for free. He arrived at my apartment with this EXTREMELY PREGNANT WIFE who he was expecting to help him MOVE the fucking thing out of the truck and into the apartment - and even though he'd obviously had to use her to get it into his truck in the first place, I wouldn't let her continue. Jesus H. nickel-plated Christ. There really are men out there who should be taken out to the desert, made to dig their own graves, and then dumped with a bullet through their heads into the hole. And there are women who are dirt-ignorant stupid enough to not only MARRY, but BREED with them. I often despair for humankind.
So here I am today...
I think that sleeping in a hammock again isn't helping with the whole bitchy mood right now. While I'm extremely glad I have it at all - I sold my bed and the buyer came and picked it up on Saturday, and the only other option would be sleeping on the hardwood floor on a foam flotation mat that I'd roll off of in half a second -
But it feels weird to be back in that space again. Being in my late 20s or even early 30s and sleeping in a hammock has a slightly zesty eccentricity to it. Being 40+ and doing same kind of makes me feel like a crank bordering on shut-in oddity whose body will only be discovered after the aroma is noted by the neighbors.
*sigh*
I hate where my brain goes sometimes.
However, the situation is only temporary, and I am grateful that my tendency to packrat possessions has netted me a more comfortable sleeping option than otherwise.
And hey - hammocks really are pretty cool. :-)
On the positive side, it seemed a constructive solution to a problem - and also just seemed kind of bohemienly alluring. The gypsy who lives out of milk crates, collapsible items, and a great big fuck-off hammock with its own stand that could be set up indoors or out without the need to drill holes in walls or hang from tree branches.
Filled with pillows, it's actually pretty comfy. It was what I slept in in my industrial-district studio, and served as both a bed and a "couch" in my first apartment here for almost a year.
When it looked like I'd finally found a place where I wouldn't have to move unless I chose to and it looked like I was *finally* going to get a chance to settle in and relax for a while (for a much-needed change) - I broke my vow. I broke down the hammock frame in its conveniently space-saving pieces, folded up and boxed the hammock, and bought a great big fuck-off sleeper sofa from a thrift store. And a good friend donated probably the most comfortable full-size bed I've ever had the pleasure of sleeping on, as well as a handy dresser. Because milk crates are useful, but it's also nice to have actual drawers to put things like underwear and rolled up sock balls and nicely folded items, and another flat surface to stack things on.
When I moved into this apartment two years ago, the measurements revealed that the ginormous sofa would have to go, unless I wanted to make a web of extension cords across the floor or fasten them strategically along the walls near the ceilings, as the only decent outlets for sensitive electronics were along the only wall long enough to accomodate it. And, the fucking thing weighed a ton and was as long as a goddamn mini-van - I only bought it because the thrift store vendor offered to deliver it for free. He arrived at my apartment with this EXTREMELY PREGNANT WIFE who he was expecting to help him MOVE the fucking thing out of the truck and into the apartment - and even though he'd obviously had to use her to get it into his truck in the first place, I wouldn't let her continue. Jesus H. nickel-plated Christ. There really are men out there who should be taken out to the desert, made to dig their own graves, and then dumped with a bullet through their heads into the hole. And there are women who are dirt-ignorant stupid enough to not only MARRY, but BREED with them. I often despair for humankind.
So here I am today...
I think that sleeping in a hammock again isn't helping with the whole bitchy mood right now. While I'm extremely glad I have it at all - I sold my bed and the buyer came and picked it up on Saturday, and the only other option would be sleeping on the hardwood floor on a foam flotation mat that I'd roll off of in half a second -
But it feels weird to be back in that space again. Being in my late 20s or even early 30s and sleeping in a hammock has a slightly zesty eccentricity to it. Being 40+ and doing same kind of makes me feel like a crank bordering on shut-in oddity whose body will only be discovered after the aroma is noted by the neighbors.
*sigh*
I hate where my brain goes sometimes.
However, the situation is only temporary, and I am grateful that my tendency to packrat possessions has netted me a more comfortable sleeping option than otherwise.
And hey - hammocks really are pretty cool. :-)
