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Sleep no longer exists. Sleep is a beforetime concept that now serves only as a perfunctory response of the body, designed to be easily and quickly interrupted. Last night, after a brief period where my body stopped being awake (I refuse to call it sleep — it was a three-hour stasis for the coming horrors of the next day) my bedmate turned on the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Starship Mine." For once I was not focused on Picard's jewel-toned riding-wear (though that is absolutely a COOTD for another day), nor his deeply relatable desire to not go to a cocktail party (I don't care how long we shelter-in-place, I will still not want to do small talk with anyone).
Upon this viewing, I was entranced by the chairs on the bridge of the USS Enterprise.
I MEAN LOOK AT THEM.
How have I never truly appreciated how plush these seats are? It is a chair made of velvet and cushions. It's a stack of lumbar supports. It's like sitting on eight airplane neck pillows. I mean every office chair I've ever had was basically PVC and an inch of foam. THESE THOUGH. They're luxurious beds for your butt. BUTT BEDS. They look even more comfortable than Picard's very own seat, with its weird split that I assume can only be for aerodynamics and the elimination of one very specific strip of backsweat.
We celebrate intergalactic ergonomics in all their cushy glory.