NORMALCY . . .

My living room furniture arrived yesterday with a crash and a boom. Well, not so drastic, but the sofa took about thirty minutes to enter my humble abode: the feet added the extra six inches that prevented a comfortable entry. And for some reason, everything looked MUCH smaller in the showroom than in my living room ... I feel dwarfed, or at least more so than usual ...

But I love the chocolate brown micro-fiber, so warm and soft to the touch. I love the big fluffy cushions, firm but perfectly bouncy. I love the decorative pillows that perfectly lift and cradle my head as I recline to watch TV from a normal height. I love the side and coffee tables which, while glass-topped and less simply designed than I had originally desired, fit perfectly in the space and are still classy. I love that my house looks inhabited now, less like a first post-college rental and more like a home.

I don't, however, love that I have furniture. I know it's not "clutter" per se, but all of a sudden, I miss the wide empty space that was my living room. I miss the ratty blue beanbag and the little lap table upon which I read magazines, ate dinner, played on Bob, catnapped. I miss the ability to roll around on the huge swath of carpet, laying in whichever position felt most comfortable in the moment. I miss the wanderlust to walk in whichever direction, unconstrained by tables and seating arrangements. I miss the freedom of not worrying about stains, scratches, cup rings on wood, dirt on fabric.

That is not to say that I did not smile a little smile this morning when I walked out of my bedroom and saw a section of my loveseat out of the corner of my eye. In fact, when I sit on the toilet with the bathroom door open, I can see part of the furnished living room, and from that angle, my place looks quite stylish, if I do say so myself.

Call me schizophrenic, call me a waffler ... I like my furniture but I don't like it. I just have to get used to it. I have to play around with the arrangement of it. I have to not worry about it so much and just enjoy it. Right?

***

RIDE ON . . .

My bike is here. EEP!

***

THE SAGA ENDS, KIND OF . . .

C helped me put my closet doors up yesterday. What an ordeal. Glad I didn't have to do it. I do, however, still have to put the doorknobs on. And I do still have to put the old ones to the curb for the next bulk garbage pick-up, which means more swiveling and being thrown off balance and gouging big chunks into the walls. If the doors don't kill me, it will be a good day.

Sigh. Will I never be finished with these damn doors?