Wednesday, March 18, 2009


I have an orange armoire, a purple chair, and I used to have a white couch. It was a shabby chic style with a slipcover, in theory a good idea until you try and stretch that thing back into place after washing it.

When I moved to Adams Morgan, it became a nuisance. There's so much city dust and activity going on and it's necessary to sweep and mop and dust every single day. Even then you can't stay on top of it.

My two cats had started to use the couch as a scratching post and I didn't have the power to stop them. One day, I'd had enough. There was a "give away" spot in the basement and I resolved to leave it there for whomever wanted it. I tipped the couch up and pushed it out my apartment door. It was heavy. There was a metal frame inside. I pushed it down the hall and got as far as the elevator when I realized I didn't have the physical capacity to get it inside. And I didn't want to push it back into my apartment. I stood there. What to do? Who to call? The elevator suddenly opened and a young guy stepped out. Hey, do you want a couch? I joked.

Yes, actually. We pushed the couch two doors down. The burden was gone. Sometimes things just fall into place.

I woke up in the middle of the night and finally cried for all of us.

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