I don’t know why, but I find it really difficult to sleep on a couch.
Take Saturday night, for instance.
After a long day at the ball park, I turned out the light in the apartment living room, sat on the edge of the couch, swung both legs onto it and fell back against the pillow.
Without warning, I was nearly choked to death by my own shirt.
Once, I made the mistake of trying to roll over.
I realized there wasn’t enough room to do so when one of my legs flew off of the couch and the other remained right where it had been.
I resolved, there and then, to sleep lying flat on my back, like a really large toothpick.
All was going to according to plan, and I fell asleep for at least 10 minutes.
When I woke up I was cold, and I am never cold.
I didn’t have a blanket so I rolled off of the couch to find one.
I hit the floor with a thud loud enough to wake everyone in the entire building, and I sat stone still for a minute until I realized it hadn’t.
When I was sure all were still sleeping, I left to look for cover.
I decided to crawl because it’s generally quieter than my walking.
Also, I couldn’t see because at this time of the night there was no light in the apartment, save the intermittent red and blue glow of the stereo.
I crawled, slowly, toward the light.
It was smooth sailing until I reached the corner of the couch and smacked face first into the end table.
I backed up, started again and soon reached the stereo.
By its light I realized there was no blanket, and I’d crawled across the room in the dark for no reason.
My eyes had since adjusted, and I made my way back to the couch.
It was then I spied the switch to the ceiling fan and decided to turn it off.
I sat back down on the edge of the couch, lifted both of my legs onto it and fell back against the pillow.
My shirt choked me once again, but once I managed to loosen its grip on my trachea I went to sleep for what must have been 20 more minutes.
Light somehow found its way through the window curtain near my head, and my eyelids slowly tried to open.
They opened really quickly when I realized someone was opening the door to the apartment.
Through a sleep-like fog I saw someone leave to get breakfast, and from then on sleep was useless.
I swung one of my legs to the floor and before I could catch myself the cushion flipped.
I hit the coffee table and fell from the couch, hard, on top of my left foot.
I believe I have badly bruised, or maybe even slightly broken, the fourth toe.
Saturday night was painful, and I had but one thought when it ended.
I now know why sleeping on the couch is sometimes used as a punishment.