I'd like to share an allegory.

Please consider the subsequent story reason #8590235734015738013 I can never, and I really mean never, live alone.


This morning it took me a while to get going; I had basically had my ass handed to me while training to serve/bartend and then I had to walk/metro home and didn't go to bed until 1:30.  My 7:15 alarm felt quite early.  So as I'm slowly but surely waking up and catching up with Libb I'm also making a mental list of things that I need to accomplish today and tomorrow.  And a while ago (when the Governator visited actually) I went to Ikea in search of a new bedside table.  What prompted the whole affair was that I had this ridiculously obscene cough at the time and I wanted to be able to put a glass of water next to my bed, but there was no room because my iHome takes up pretty much all the space on top of the table.  So I figured best solution is to get a real bedside table.  Said table has been sitting in the hall, unassembled, in its sad little Ikea box for about 2 weeks now.  (It spent the previous month in the trunk of my car.)  I figured this morning would be a GREAT time to assemble it.  I'd like to pause for a moment here.  I truly think it's hard to appreciate how awful I am at assembling things unless you've ever lived me with me (Chach, I'm looking at you and the shelves in my closet here.), or had the misfortune of watching me attempt to assemble anything.  Because the thing is I like to believe that I'm reasonably intelligent.  (Which, as a side note, is how I always talk myself into attempting assembly, even though it NEVER ends well.)  Hence I believe that as I am reasonably intelligent I should be able to follow the directions and put something together.  Negative, Ghostwriter.  I just don't have a spatial brain.  Basically I blame math.  Or, to clarify, I imagine math and assembly are neighboring areas of the brain.  And if I were better at one I would be able to school both.


But I digress.  The point is that today I was feeling ambitious and motivated.  (Or, depending on your perspective, arrogant and misguided.)  So I put my laundry in, flip my mattress, and then I decide to conquer the table.  Please note not only did I attempt to conquer the table, but I was EXTREMELY confident I would succeed (see above).  To the extent that I literally thought in my mind "This is going to be awesome.  I am going to make this table my bitch."  I was even thinking about how I would rearrange my room if the new table didn't fit in the same spot, and I was thinking about which bookshelf could hold the extra books that won't fit in the new table.  I'm not sure if this supreme confidence offended my table, Ikea, or Jesus, but someone was clearly interested in thwarting my goals.  I opened the box and sort of checked everything out.  I pulled out what I could only assume where the directions.  No.  Apparently, instead of assembly directions Ikea gives out picture books in their furniture.  I mean, I liked the story included in the box.  Basically, Lumpy McSweden tries to assemble his Ikea item.  He makes sure that he has everything he needs, which, according to Ikea, is apparently a friend to assist you (red flag #1).  They even show Lumpy looking confused by the story.  But then he calls Ikea and they help him out.  I figured since I'm good at reading comprehension I wouldn't need to call Ikea to ask about the story.  I even looked at the directions and STILL felt good about it.  I had everything I needed and I felt bolstered by the story of Lumpy McSweden and his success at assembly.  


I made it to step 2.  I put the plugs in the hole, but then I couldn't make the holes for the screws match up.  I literally spent about 10 minutes rotating the legs of this flippin' table to try to make them fit in the holes drilled by Ikea.  No such luck.  (Also, I just want the record to show that tomorrow when Kate helps me put together this table it will take her approximately 1.5 seconds to handle that.  Literally, she will probably have the entire thing done in the amount of time I spent looking for the holes.)  It was embarrassing.  So I decided to table the assembly until tomorrow (pun intended) when Kate can assist me.  And this is further evidence that I can NEVER live alone.