It started with a chair

It started with a chair. I had no comfortable chair in my room, but there was one not being used in the living room. However, the chair takes up more room than I had, so we had to move the computer table.

The computer table wouldn’t fit where we moved it, and we had to move the large bookshelf downstairs to make room. Once moved, we still found the long table wouldn’t fit, so I decided to move the white fold up table into the corner as a computer table.

But the white computer table wouldn’t fit in the corner, and besides we had to move the bed and now it was too close to the table on the other side that held my stereo and television. I asked my roommate how big were the tables in his room, and would he be up for a trade?

We then moved my bigger table out, and my smaller table into the corner and moved his smaller tables into the other side of the room to hold the TV and stereo.

But after we moved the chair upstairs, and it fit nicely into the corner of my room, right by the window, there was a space left in the living room; we moved the full size futon over and then placed the bookshelf where the futon was. However, we had to move the tall, square table over behind the couch, but I get the Rembrandt lamp for my room. And the Marvin picture.

Since I really don’t have as much room as I did, I gave my older printer to my roommate; when he was connecting it up to his computer, he happened to notice that when he unplugged his laptop that the batteries are no longer working. So I’ll be giving him my Dell laptop, which I’d planned on anyway, going purely with my Mac.

Moving the bookshelf meant I now I had a bunch of music CDs covering my bed, and no place to put them. We solved this problem by moving the two, slim white wire bookshelves up into my room, and the half circle table over by my bed to hold my lamp and the three books I’m reading at the same time. We had to move all the rest of the books downstairs to the bookshelf; it seems brighter in the room, but I am going to miss not being surrounded by books.

My roommate is downstairs exhausted, mumbling something about thinking he was exempt from all this shit now that we’re divorced. I said it only works that way when you have a bad divorce. I said next time he should cheat on his wife and leave the toilet seat up, and then he wouldn’t have to spend his Saturday re-arranging furniture.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email