Ch-Ch-Ch-Change. A loathesome word. If change is the spice of life, I'll take mine mild. No? Not allowed? Well, ummm, you can... Kiss your tip goodbye! Clearly I am one for gambling. If I have a dollar in my pocket, it could theoretically change into two. Or zero. So why bother?
I've always wondered what my hesitation has been from leaping (pun intended) into a different scenario. It isn't as if I sit at home at night sighing in utter bliss from the joys that creep into every breathing moment of my days. And there are times- let's leave it at that- where I feel as if any sort of change would have to be a good one. And yet, no. And when you have someone else depending on you- be it a friend waiting for a ride or a baby waiting to be burped, or two psychotic dogs waiting for you to put your glass down so they can crawl further into your lap- your plans may change regardless of how superbly you may have planned to have a dog free lap that particular moment.
Blah blah change blah Couches.
I bought purple couches.
Anyone that knows me should know two very important pieces of information. In no particular order, I love my L-Shaped couch, and I can get claustraphic feeling in both confined spaces and with things around my neck or wrists. Dating profile set-up, or what? Come on! My couch I bought five years ago at a remnant store for The Door Store. I stayed on the NJ side of things, not surprisingly, and haven't actually been into one of them fancy New York City stores, but I hear them places are mighty nice. My couch and I had a moment when we met. I was simultaneously thinking, "You are coming home with me" and "Why am I in the back of this poorly lit warehouse?"
We made it out alive. Or I should say, I was alive. And when that bad boy came home, my dogs started filling with with germs and dirt to bring it to as much life as possible. My couch, let's call it Peet, provides ample seating, comfort from "the storm," and the only interjection of color in my entire living room: a muted olive-y moss. A short while into my love affair with Peet, Marley and Mojo had ravaged through all of the back cushions. It had long since passed the whole, let me re-fluff or pick the cusions back up. Their incessant sleeping and climbing and burrowing and burying somehow molded back cushions into stiff and lifeless flat puddles of material that eventually bothered me so much, I threw them out, two at a time, shoving them forecefully down my old apartment's garbage chute. Peet's naked frame screamed out for covering, much like my back screamed out when I plopped onto the bare couch. Twenty five pleather couch cushions lined up and removed every single day later, we come to present day.
When my dogs gave themselves Xylitol Poisoning and my 17 pound yorkie decided to go head to head with my 17 foot couch, and won. It's quasi-salvageable, but I found peet a new home. A home where it will never sit alone in silence and be taken for granted ever again. The pounding of the dogs paws will be replaced by the kneading of a couple of cats claws, and I like to think Peet could go for a little back rub.
In fast forward... I brought measurements to a store. I don't know how to apply measurements, eyeball anything, or do simple math. I cannot wrap my head around the difference between a triple football field sized showroom and my small apartment living room. I learn that an L-Shaped couch with attached back cushions is not an option. I have a brief and completely internal panic filled meltdown. I find a couch with attached back cushions. I decide if I am going to get rid of so much seating, I need two full sized couches. These couches don't look large. I pay for said couches. They come on Saturday. The ache of disappointment in not replacing my exact couch is palpable. The ache of realizing a change in couch options makes me feel anything at all is ten times worse. I measure. I'm not pleased. My whole living room is about to be eaten by two couches. And they are purple. I went in for a brown L-Shaped couch. I left with two straight purple couches. That more than do, do not fit. I've lost a lot more sleep than I have found in the past two days. And Mojo sleeps soundly.