Oh, Ikea — how many visions of domestic bliss have been nurtured along your twisty pathways lined with plastic, particle board, laminates, and veneers? And how many more have been mourned later on, when all those things are nothing but reminders of the stuff left behind when those visions have faded?
Yes, I know that’s a bit melodramatic. It’s what we gays do. Seriously, though, I’ve been to Ikea more times than I care to recall during the last few weeks, and it’s always a little bittersweet. I don’t have much choice, though, since our Swedish Overlords are the most brutally efficient way to fully stock a brand new apartment when all you really own is clothes, comic books, and art supplies. (I own some bookcases, too, but they’re mostly hand-me-downs that originally came from Ikea in the first place, so they’re about to fall to pieces if I so much as look at them the wrong way.)
I’ve been wandering around the new apartment thinking things like, “Gee, I know I used to own some sheets,” or “What’s the best way to stock an entire kitchen all at once?” I’ve been running on nothing but stress, fumes, and sugar for the past few weeks, so I’ve tried to address those issues with as much one-stop shopping as humanly possible. Moving on Labor Day weekend didn’t make things much easier. I managed to survive a trip to Ikea on the Saturday morning of the long weekend, but I finally lost my cool at the Target in Downtown Brooklyn later that day. I had to abandon my very full cart in the ladies sportswear department and get out before I cracked. If I hadn’t had someone urging me to just walk away from the chaos I’m not sure how far I would have let it go.
But I think I’m done with the emergency purchases for now, and soon I’ll finish the unpacking and organizing of the books and art supplies. (The comic books were sorted out right away, naturally.) I’m settling into life on the Bed-Stuy/Crown Heights border (I’ve christened the my newly renovated loft building “The Cracker Factory.”), and getting back to mundane concerns like teaching, working, end even dating.
So things seem OK, at least until all the Ikea stuff starts to fall apart.