Luxuriating in the deep abyss of a peaceful sleep, I glide through nonsensical dreams – buying groceries from a troll under a bridge, dancing with my friends in the Piazza San Marco, riding down a hill in a rickshaw at an uncontrollable speed, unable to be stopped, trying to break myself free –

This is the point when I fall five feet through the air and land hard on my stomach on a pair of flip-flops, a box of Family Guy DVDs, and a “Bananas in Pajamas” doll.

Yes, I’m one of the few – the many? – the proud! – to be blessed with a lofted bed at Fairfield University. This year it’s a new experience for me – I thoroughly enjoyed my “high bed” in Jogues last year.

But this year the tables are turned: I’m living in Loyola, and to get the greatest benefit out of our ample space, I volunteered to loft my bed so we could fit a futon underneath. This opens up the option of creating abundant space for up to twelve privileged guests to view the television.

It’s been a month.

One would be used to it by now, wouldn’t you think? But no! Finding a way to climb up still has me baffled.

It’s down either to making a running start and flinging my body onto the bed in one swift motion or climbing up the wide gaps of the “ladder” on the edge, which more resembles an event in an obstacle course.

The best way to get down is to lay down on my belly with my legs hanging over the edge, proudly giving everyone a display of my posterior, and scoot backwards, inch by inch.

By the way, did I mention that this is always the precise moment when a cute guy happens to be walking past the open door? Panting, I lose my balance and fall onto the floor once again. Cute Guy shakes his head and walks away.

Maybe I could eradicate this problem by just giving up sleep altogether. The brilliant Thomas Edison never slept more than twenty minutes every few hours, and Seinfeld’s Kramer, whom some consider equally brilliant, duplicated this feat.

Maybe my roommate had the right idea when she swore she would never loft her bed. Whether she was trying to demonstrate the lauds of storage space or further hide her organic food supply, we’ll never know. What we do know is that when she has a nightmare and falls a mere three feet to the floor, she’ll be flaunting a few less bruises.