A couple of weeks ago, I decided to sleep on the futon my partner and I picked up at Muji a few months before we left Japan. After the second night, my partner said, “This is how it starts, you know. We start sleeping in separate beds.”

“Really?” I said.

He slept on the futon with me the third night. And since then, we’ve only slept on our bed once, uncomfortably, our bodies longing for the firm, flat goodness of the futon in the other room.

We originally bought the futon to replace that God-awful wannabe sofa-bed we got at that crappy home store in Atre above Ebisu Station in Tokyo. Since leaving New York for Asia, we always make sure to have an extra bedroom to house out of town guests. In between visiting family and friends, however, the extra room was equal parts library and study.

I got the bright idea to unfold the futon and lay it out in the second bedroom after my bi-yearly rearranging of the furniture. My partner came home and said, “Who’s coming to visit? I don’t know if I like this. Should I run down to get a bottle of wine before I take off my shoes?”

“No one is coming to visit, you’ll like it and I already got some wine.” I said.

He always pulls this shit. That’s why I rearrange and redecorate alone. You should have seen his place before we moved in together. Pigsty. He came out to himself in college. I knew I was gay in kindergarten. I’ve noticed a strong correlation between late bloomers and messy apartments. He never likes anything I do until he likes it and then I get the belated thank you. “Great chair, Babe. So glad you got it.” Jerk.

We both have our theories as to why sleeping on a futon on the floor is so relaxing.

He says it’s because it’s so firm, and that people used to sleep on the floor back in the day, so we’re just returning to what our ancestors did. He says this while typing into his Blackberry. Yeah, we’re headed straight back to living in caves.

I think it’s because sleeping so close to the ground allows your internal subconscious movement calibrator to rest. I mean, if you sleep on a queen size bed three feet above the floor, your body has to know on some level not to roll too far to the right or you’ll wake up suddenly and with a thud. My cousin was like that. When we were little, her parents placed one of those hospital railings on her bed. Poor thing kept flopping out of bed at night. She was also a sleep walker. Bitch needed to be chained to the bed. Night, night. Rattle, rattle.

But I digress.

I’ve dolled up the futon with earth-toned throw pillows and a red duvet cover in Chinese patterns. That way, it doesn’t look so “ancestor” like. We are primitive people, me and my man. We dine by candlelight and sleep on the floor.