Happiness and bliss have slowly subsided since we came back; we are again angry and frustrated at being bored and out of options, at all the little petty stupidities I have long time ago stopped reporting here, at having nowhere to go for a stroll on a Sunday night — the usual stuff.
Lately it has also been oppressively sultry (not in the sexy sense). Yes, Great Westphalian insists that this is nothing compared to sweltering Washington DC. However, I am not sure I would live in DC, either. And I am not sure it is such a chronic problem there as it is here: from mid June to mid October every year. Thankfully, I’ve got my job. My new one, that is. Right on time.
Whatever. Nobody cares. People think I suffer from acquired whining, anyway. So, change of tack.
IKEA is opening in three days in the Outpost. All the customary cataclysmic side-effects are expected here as well. Jod went shopping there last Saturday, during a VIP sneak preview (courtesy of One of the Seven). She brought back less than I hoped for. Among them was Aneboda, which is just a flat-packed (obviously) chest of drawers (but don’t you just love those lame pseudo-Swedish names IKEA products have? I mean, one of their lines is called ‘Malm’ for X’s sake; they probably pay linguists or branding specialists or what-have-you to come up with them).
The IKEA pioneers met me outside for a coffee. I was in a stinking mood. I still had this thing Jod had said earlier wedged in my head: “We have wasted our best years in the bloody provinces: five years in the Market Town, five years here”. Something I have thought about over and over again but never had the guts to spell out myself, not even to myself. So, we came back home and I sank into a deep sleep, dreaming of publishers rejecting my manuscripts and trying to convince them to think twice: this is what happens when you read McInerney’s Brightness Falls before siesta.
However, I woke up happy and eager to assemble Aneboda. Which I did, diligently: my own Anatevka moment, which I was humming throughout the two-hour assembling of the chest of drawers: I have grown rusty, as it’s been a year or so since I last assembled a flat-packed piece of furniture. So, Aneboda led me to Anatevka, which is what happens when your father frequently listens to the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack when you are child.
We had of course nowhere to go on a Saturday night, so I made tacos and we watched DVDs and drank beers instead, secure under the air conditioner.