Turning Over A New Twig
It's almost Wednesday tomorrow. Well, in fifteen minutes. The end of the start of the week and the start of the end of the week, all conveniently rolled into one manageable twenty four hour period. Trish arrived last Monday, the day after I got back from Athens and everything has been a blur since then. We went to Ikea- for me the second time, for Trish the eight hundred and second time. It's still a strange place. Maybe the Ikea of the future will sell flat-packed robots and I'll like it more. It's not a bad place its just a bit of an overload. It's a bit like an art fair. When you see something good you stop and look at it and then you're not sure if its good or not because there's so much stuff everywhere that is definitely bad. Then you're not sure if some of the bad stuff might actually be good and then you're not sure what's bad and what's good anymore. So we left with an assortment of furniture that seemed good, went bad for a while and is currently fluctuating between the two.
So we painted a bit, built a wardrobe, painted a bit more, built another wardrobe...etc. All my stuff is still in boxes and has been shunted around the flat a few times. Currently it's all in the living room. Against my better judgement, an executive decision was taken to think long term and not just paint around the boxes.
Everything seems to be tidy and in the 'right' place and the flat is running like a well oiled machine. Precisely what kind of machine is still as yet unclear. Maybe my only escape will be to get really drunk so I can see everything as an unfocussed, overlapping mess again.
So we painted a bit, built a wardrobe, painted a bit more, built another wardrobe...etc. All my stuff is still in boxes and has been shunted around the flat a few times. Currently it's all in the living room. Against my better judgement, an executive decision was taken to think long term and not just paint around the boxes.
Everything seems to be tidy and in the 'right' place and the flat is running like a well oiled machine. Precisely what kind of machine is still as yet unclear. Maybe my only escape will be to get really drunk so I can see everything as an unfocussed, overlapping mess again.