The Recliner

Alright. For the first time, I’ve been needing to get off my chest. Or back in this instance. I may have mentioned something about the recliner in one of my mental health posts, but if not, I will get around to that.

What’s going on with me is bizarre. It started a couple years ago AFTER a couple years before then. Exact dates would be helpful, but to be honest, unless its written down, I don’t remember too good. Anyhoo, I had flipped my motorcycle. Landed on my back. No issues right away. I actually got back on it all banged up, both me and the bike.

Fast forward a little bit… I was a stagehand for a while and at the Bridgestone Arena, there was a concrete chunk dug out by something. It was about 6 inches in length and maybe an inch deep. Not that that is important but… onward.

It’s load out time and we go to our departments and break it all down and get it ready to push. Well we got everything ready to push for the trucks. We grab something and wheel it up to the loaders and they pack it in. This is practically balls to the wall, about 50 people are really pushing to close it up.

One of the last things on this gig was audio. I grabbed a stack of speakers move it out of the way to wrangle some o/c cable into a feeder box. And as I was pushing the cable box, I hear, “watch out”. I without hesitation grabbed a handle, as did 3 other people. I just so happened to be in front of its path. But… luckily we all was able to right it back up and send it on.

But right there’s where I had never felt what wasn’t quite pain as it was intense spasms in my lower lumbar. But I couldn’t move. I was driven out of the building in one of those maintenance gator carts.

From then on, I had not been able to comfortably sleep in a bed. And fast forward to a couple years ago. I was recommended to sleep in a recliner. And ever since, I haven’t had a bed to sleep in comfortably.

So day after day, night after night, I sit in a recliner. I sleep in a recliner. I’m alone in a recliner. And the more I sit in it, the more mental I become.

I don’t sleep well. Not without meds. But it doesn’t seem to matter in the recliner. The chair has its own personality. Doesn’t matter which one. Each one is different. But this one is leather. Well worn in. Its a decade old for sure.

I sit here and its comfortable. But its not for sleeping. At night it tells me its had enough. The whole reason I use the recliner is to sleep. Yet not at night. I can’t get comfortable. I try the couch and its no better. And the bed is still a no.

So I sit. I sit in the recliner until I doze off. I sit in the recliner until it swallows me into the dream state. I’m not comfortable. But I doze into a deep sleep. And have the strangest reoccurring dream. All I see is sandstone architecture. It looks like it should be the way it looks on the outside, but its the same inside and out.

And when I wake up remembering a particular room of this house. Then I look at the recliner as I wake. I know I slept. I remember the dream. But I’m no longer uncomfortable in the recliner.

Sometimes when I lay back all the way, it plays a funny game with me. It wants me to feel as if I’m falling off the headrest and spilling onto the floor. Silly chair. It almost had me.

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