Ultrasparky

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.

Just to be clear, I ought to mention that I haven’t been lazy — I’ve been taking a break. When I return to posting, which I expect will be within a couple more weeks or so, things are likely to be a little different. It won’t be a redesign this time, but instead it will be a change of circumstance.

For reasons I don’t plan on discussing, I’m moving back to Brooklyn soon. To live by myself. That makes me deeply sad in many ways, but it’s also the best thing for me to do. It was my decision, and I made it so that I can preserve something with a truly wonderful person who is, I’ve come to accept, more of a friend than anything else. Therefore, I’m going back to Brooklyn so each of us can stop waiting for the other to become a different person.

That is all for now.

It’s hot and gross, and because I ran out of the house before showering this morning I found myself on the subway, hanging onto the rail, and horrified by the intensity of my own stank. If it had been a leisurely weekend spent in the soothing bosom of air conditioning, things would be better, I’m sure — it usually takes a while for me to proceed very far past musky under ordinary conditions. But I spent a good chuck of yesterday in the hot sun, hauling props and styling models for one of my little projects, and I got home slightly before the onset of heatstroke. I spent the night like spent the rest of the weekend — hunched over my laptop designing my little heart out, and I was up again this morning finishing up the work at hand. Before I knew it, it was time to fly and haul myself uptown to teach.

Blah, blah, blah. I’m sure you all get the point: I worked all weekend and forgot to shower this morning and so I’m trying not to pass out from the smell of my own armpits. Mmmmm, the glamor of summer!