It was one of those lazy Saturday mornings when I didn’t have anywhere to be until 12:00pm. (The work week in Egypt is Sunday-Thursday).
I woke up around 9 a.m., had a delicious green breakfast, read and looked over Arabic for an hour.
Food somewhat digested, it felt like yoga time.
Every time I want to exercise at home (There are cheap men-only gyms down the street) I always face the same dilemma.
The space is in the living room but the air-conditioning is in my bedroom.
After doing a couple crowded vinaysas between my bed and window, I decided to take action.
If I rotated and moved my bed so it is under the window I would have room for my yoga matt between the foot of my bed and desk.
Deciding to trust my eyes, I gave my bed a shove toward it’s new home.
It didn’t budge.
I took off the mattress, under which I found wood planks. I removed those too.
A pile of old plastic suitcases, decaying taped boxes, an ab table and old projector greeted me.
Everything was coated in a layer of thick dust and moth balls.
I tried to push the bed-frame with the stuff inside.
It only slid slightly.
I removed the boxes and suitcases, one fell open to reveal a collection of shoes. I picked up a pair of cute red heels, clots of sand fell out, and the inside was filled with grime and mold. The more stuff I moved the more I found…a rusty old knife a tin filled with keys and a couple other metal things I couldn’t identify.
Things to the side I pushed the bed to its new window-front home.
Unfortunately the precarious wooden bed frame suffered on the journey.
The same thing happened to me last year, in an apartment I subletted in Washington DC.
But in DC it was a new Ikea frame where the parts snapped into place.
Now I was dealing with a heavy wooden frame, tired nails and a whole lot of junk jostling for space under the planks. I put the bed back together and was ready to call it a day.
The sideboard fell off and my mattress sunk ominously on the left side.
The fun continued a few hours later when a couple of my friends stopped by. The loose boards were soon thrown to the side as the guys explored the mounds of under-bed crap.
They were especially fascinated by boxes of bullets and old rusty knife.
They debated wether my landlord was a thief or in the military, as I claimed.
After a while they put the bed back together, in slightly better order than I had.
The only item that made the cut for staying above mattress was the ab rack.
After doing a couple obstacle-free vinyaysas this morning I went to Arabic class and checked my email.
“knives under your bed? really?” My Mom wrote. I’m all for it if you need to but I’m worried if you need to.”
She had seen a comment on my Facebook wall and didn’t have the context.
Funny that my Mom thought I needed to sleep with knives under my bed in Cairo? Crazy that she wasn’t more concerned? A failure of my blog there is cause for such concern? A success that she thinks it will all work out here? Awesome that she trusts me to use knives so well?
Ehh…there they will remain.