Desktop artist rendering of injurious nap position.


By Steve Arney

BLOOMINGTON, Ill. – While at a friend’s house the other day, I was reminded of the time a few years ago when I almost bought a home -- reminded because I nearly bought the house across the street from this friend.

Bombarded by the message that you need to own to be whole, I nearly succumbed. I told someone (I've forgotten whom) that I didn’t have the credit rating, earning power or down payment to buy a house.

He replied, "Oh, you’d be surprised how easy it is nowadays to get into a house.”

I didn't investigate, luckily.

As the mortgate crisis spreads to a worldwide credit crisis, we renters realize just how easy it would have been.

Brokers were begging you into mortgages you couldn’t afford, and if you didn’t have enough income you were free to lie about that little detail.

I avoided becoming part of the subprime problem. No need to thank me and the millions of other renters who knew their limits. We simply thought that it goes without saying that you don't borrow what you cannot repay.

But while I’m on the topic, I’ll gloat about the other hassles I avoid.

On Monday, I could barely get out of my car. I grimaced with back pain. I walked stooped down. I held my breath as pain shot into the lower back and into my thighs whenever I arose from a seated position.

A lot of people were feeling similar pains in the early portion of the week.

But their strains come from their hours of yard work and miscellaneous toil from the weekend spent on their houses. My problem was that I slept awkwardly during a two-hour nap on the couch on Saturday afternoon – a nap injury incurred during a REM session, achieved despite the TV being tuned in to a ballgame and despite or aided by the hynotic sound of yard raking outside.

In my home, the entire third-floor of a converted house, I have a glorious view of the Illinois Wesleyan University Library.

Even though I have no blinds, no one outside can see me. Unless you are in the library, with a telescope, after the leaves of the trees have fallen. If you are that determined – and that weird -- you are welcome to watch me.

All things considered, I consider my rental a paradise of privacy.

It’s an old house, and it has its problems.

One day, for instance, when walking through the basement, I discovered a fecal-like substance oozing out of the floor drain. I took action at once.

Dialed the number. “Yeah, Jim, you’ve got a problem in your basement.”

(Subprime mortgage mess made understandable by “This American Life”: www.thislife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=355)