Better Late Than Never

I bought a couch, and that marks the beginning of my midlife crisis. I say that it’s a midlife crisis because I kept asking myself whether I would have done this a few months ago, when things were seemingly going so well for me. The answer would have been no. I was happy with what I had, what I owned, and where I was in life. I’m unhappy. I decided to buy a couch to fill some sort of void inside of me, and you know what? I did, in a sense. I love the couch I chose, the place I put it, and the brio it gives my place. My place is my place, and my place feels like home. It’s awesome. I have a few more decorations to put up on my walls, but once I do that, I’m going to have to decide whether or not to get a TV. I implicitly decided not to get one once I decided to get a couch, but I was talking to my brother-in-law about it, and he said I could mount one up on my wall pretty easily. I didn’t think of that. That’s one thing I’m going to sit on for a bit and simply see what to do later.

My day has been long. I met the couch seller in Missoula, which is about an hour away. He lived on the fourth floor of this really nice apartment complex, and once I saw the couch, sat on it and knew the couch was perfect, I paid the man his cash and we carried the piece of furniture down four flights of stairs and crammed it into the back of my Durango. It fit perfectly. And now here we are, a man who’s lived in his own apartment for two and a half years and now, finally, has a couch. Better late than never, right?

I’m bragging about a couch. My brother-in-law said I need to go out on a date. I agree with him. I do. This couch is making me too giddy, right? I have nothing else going on in my life that a couch is my highpoint. Or low-point, depending on how you look at it. I might be in the middle of a midlife crisis. Who knows how long it’s been going on. Maybe since the first entry of this blog. Ha. Or maybe this weekend. Or maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just self-dramatizing my life in order to have something to write about because I still need two and a half more months of writing before I’m done with my one year project. Or maybe this is just me, whatever this means. All this. All of it. The entirety of my life. It’s just me.

I plan to sit on my new couch and relax and read and think and maybe bring a girl over and watch my nonexistent TV and not talk and not read and not do anything but sex. It’s a love seat after all and TV is a distraction.