My generation doesn't sleep well because we do not have the luxury to. Growing up, we were sold a narrative that was written by the "American Dream" in its dying throes: work hard, get good grades, and everything else will fall into place. It's no big secret that this world isn't exactly working perfectly.
I have a complicated relationship with my bed. I hate it, but I can't stop sleeping with it. I've heard other women compare their beds to clouds or refer to them fondly as their "nests." My bed is like the mighty Sarlacc, George Lucas' mind-creature that sucks in its victims then digests them over the course of 1,000 years.