Saturday, September 01, 2007

ode to my Ikea bookcase, leaning to the right

You looked like a nice piece of furniture on the showroom floor. Fake wood looking like real wood under the fluorescent lights. You had me at Leksvik, and I don't even know what that means in your native tongue.

I imagined all the smart books I could stack upon your shelves: Ulysses (reality: Oddball Wisconsin), War & Peace (reality: The Yank's Guide to Irish Jargon), the Bible (reality: Depraved and Insulting English). I built you with easy-to-follow picture-book instructions that a 4 year old child could follow, yet, for some reason, you confused me. You made me drink. Maybe I shouldn't've been drinking assembling you.

And! gave me more screws than I actually needed. What the hell? Why did you give me extra screws? I stood there for twenty minutes with 5 extra screws in my palm, tearing back through the assembly instructions, searching for a reason why I was standing there, now drunk, with extra screws in my palm. Why did you make me second-guess my Ikea assembly skills? Friends don't do that to friends.

But I forgave you because my stereo fits snugly in your belly. I didn't measure for my stereo, yet it was a perfect fit. It didn't even occur to me that you'd be a good place to put my stereo. Huzzah! Happy accidents! Huzzah!

You've survived two apartment moves. I didn't think you'd make it through the first let alone the second.


You lean to the right.

You've always leaned a bit to the right. It's gotten worse and worse. I hardly noticed until one of my friends looked at you and said, "I feel like I'm in a wacky fun-house with crazy furniture." I was offended on your behalf.

Frankly, you're making me nervous. I'm not abusing you. I'm not overloading you beyond your means. I could show you abuse. Ohhhh, I could SHOW you abuse. I'm thinking of purchasing the Encyclopedia Britannica (A to Z), but I've shown you nothing but kindness in my vast collection of retarded paperbacks.

Don't even tell me this is my fault because I had 5 screws leftover from your assembly. I screwed you in all the holes you had. I sobered up and double checked.

Please, Ikea bookcase, if you're going to collapse, please do not collapse at 4 am when I'm asleep. You will fall down and make a shit-ton of noise and I will pee my bed thinking a crazy dude with a crowbar has broken into my apartment. I won't mind if you fall down in the middle of the day. Or if I'm out exercising (note: I don't exercise). Or if I'm having a party and somebody bumps into you and knocks you down because then I can blame my stupid drunk friend for your Scandinavian frailty.

I forgive you for your faults. Your stupid, stupid faults. I'll miss you if you die. Hold on just a little bit longer.

Hold on.

Hold on.