First of all, get your minds out of the gutter.
Let me backtrack. I live in an older home (built in 1939). 8 days ago, we had torrential rainstorms here in DC. I was awoken at about 12:30 a.m. by a noise (unrelated to this story) and jumped out of bed, only to realize that my bedroom ceiling was leaking. YIKES.
Because I am on nerve-blocking medication for my back (long story), I incoherently stumbled down to the basement to rustle up some tubs to catch the rainwater. Of course, that meant EMPTYING the tubs that I keep the growing hoard organized in. After resolving the drip situation, I slowly turned, only to see ANOTHER new leak that was—no lie—dripping on my pillow! On my brand-new very expensive mattress.
That meant more tubs, more emptying, more hustling, and a total rearrange of my bedroom at 1:30 a.m. But, I did it. I survived. I could now go back to sleep. I headed to the couch. Yeah, the one I'm trying to sell because it's so uncomfortable.
So, I moved to the guest bedroom, like any normal person would. ANY NORMAL PERSON THAT DOESN'T STORE THEIR HOARD ON THAT BED. That bed is more of a staging area—more of a queen-sized shelf.
Given the hour, I just shoved everything aside, and snuggled in.
And until the roofer replaces my roof, I'm sleeping with the telescope. And the lampshades, grainsacks, and boxes of loot.