Happiness Couch, Part II
So my old roommate is moving to Denver, CO apparently to go to grad school or whatever, and unfortunately for me she has decided that for some reason she actually like, needs her furniture back now. I guess for school or something stupid like that.
So anyway, when I moved here in January I didn’t have much with me nor did I bring much (any) of my furniture from Maryland (which wasn’t much to speak of anyway.) Because she already had a kitchen table and chairs, a couch, love seat and a coffee table, the acquisition of any further furniture seemed entirely unnecessary, except for those things which I needed for my survival (a huge bed, for instance.)
Knowing this doom was eventually coming was part of the reason that I acquired Happiness Couch™ in the first place. What I didn’t realize however, was the immediacy of how quickly she was going to be showing up to ruthlessly take back her positions. Nor did I realize the depressing emotional reaction Happiness Couch™ would have.
Can you feel the desolation? The crushing sense of abandonment?? Apparently what I didn’t understand is how quickly Happiness Couch™ had bonded with my roommate’s coffee table. Is there a mourning ritual for couches bereft of loved ones? How does it usually take for couches to recover from a shock like that?
Should I be concerned about future furniture divorces? (After all, the black leather couch and the end table will also be leaving.) I am very concerned, but I’m not sure what if anything I can really do to comfort my newly acquired couch, once so gay and carefree with it’s yellowy joyous beaming, now so limp and morose.
I hope it gets over grieving soon... Because it's not helping me feel any better about the fact that this apartment is lonely. Maybe if I can acquire a new coffee table, it will be cheerful and happy again.
Unrelatedly, this is why browsing thrift shops for coffee mugs is more awesome than normal stores:
Seriously though, it does really suck to suddenly feel like my living room is half-empty and pointless. A depressing shortage of table-age has befallen my domicile. Woe is me.