Where you sleep

So. I had this king sized bed, in a fairly small bedroom which could barely contain it. Our old bed, a queen sized had been destroyed by our angry and leaky cat, and a generous friend had donated an extra king. It was damaged in the move somewhat but still serviceable, for a while. Eventually, for various reasons, it just got to seem too big. So I bought a queen sized bed on Ebay (which I now need to look in to borrowing a van/truck to get) and thought, what to do? Freecycle. It's just been picked up by an expanding family, couple and a two year old with another on the way who all like to sleep in a kitten pile. It was getting uncomfortable as of late in their wee double bed. I also gave them a set of sheets to start them off and they seemed very, very happy. The trade of old bed for new (to me, at least) is not quite as seamless as I like, and I'm about to assemble a garden hammock to sleep in for the foreseeable future. No matter. A whole family is happy and I'm happy about that.
And a hammock is a better place to sleep than a sunken city. There's a song from way back by the Tragically Hip, and I'm not a fan but there it is running through my head regardless. New Orleans, city I've build up in my mind as an escape route, as a destination, as a place of adventure I'd quite like to go. With the above ground cemeteries to keep the dead from floating...well, they're floating now. I think of Pompeii way way back when, when the sky must have been red with fire, a mirror to the passions of that great city. I wonder if they noticed it was coming, if they stayed and played oblivious or to spite it, to thank the gods or in the hopes of joining them? And the sunken ones now, building and breathing in a city below sea level, below consciousness, where true love and the blues may be have been locked in loving embrace with the mortal world (and just there I plagarized, but it's where those words lived to me) where writers and music were born...did they see it coming? Where they too lost to care? What kind of people build cities on rumbling volcanoes or under the ocean? Are we romantics or fools? Is there a difference? Is it that we're most alive when closest to death? Lots of questions. This much I know is true: the magical places we conceive and construct are no match for the weight of the world. They're no match for what we've done to the world - climate change, small because climates are small, right? Most certainly not. Anyway, I hope the city drains and some part of it remains to be visited, that the residents who got out find a magic place on higher ground, and the the dead may float in peace. My thoughts and prayers are with them tonight.
And also happily with a family sleeping kitten pile style on a new-to-them bed. That at least I can do.