I’m to that point. The point where I start rearranging furniture like a madwoman, hoping it will satisfy my cravings that have a very real possibility of turning violent if not addressed. And I’m not gentle with my poor furniture either. I think maybe it’s because I hate it. I totally destroyed my file cabinet that has been on the brink of destruction for years now. I don’t know why I’ve been babying it. It’s just a piece of junk. In fact, it’s such a piece of junk that once I took the drawers out to move it, the top disconnected from the sides and they all just fell outward. In slow motion. I didn’t even try to stop them. I watched them and then I took what still somehow stuck together and I ripped with all my might. Wood splintered and screws went flying. Then I hauled it all out to the curb in one load and threw it on the ground. I would even go so far as to say that I hucked it. I hucked it so hard that the lady two houses down who happened to be taking out her garbage at the same time looked up at me in alarm.
Then I moved the couches.
Then I broke my back moving the piano.
Then I moved pictures around, putting the ones I’m really sick of in places where I won’t have to look at them so much.
Then for good measure, I switched the curtains in the family room with the ones in our bedroom.
I don’t know if it worked though. I still hate everything. I mean I really, really, really hate everything.
And just when I’m good and ready to wallow, this happens:
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start