I did something spectacular on Monday: I built a desk.
Last week, I went to IKEA with my mother and extremely pregnant sister. In addition to buying more toys and items for my soon-to-be-born niece, I was there to buy a desk for myself.
A writer needs a desk, no?
While my sister relaxed in one of IKEA’s living rooms and watched Singing in the Rain, my mother and I managed to find a desk that would suit my needs and my bank account. Somehow we lugged the box into my sister’s car, where it was left for the next few days until I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer for it.
So Monday morning, after waking up at the God-forsaken hour of 6 a.m. on my day off, (yes, day off, you read that right—I got a job! Hooray!), I sat on the floor of my bedroom and tried to make sense of the boards and screws I possessed.
It took me three hours and a lot of Frank Sinatra, but I managed to put it all together without anyone else’s help. And not a screw was leftover.
I’ve laid flooring, ripped off wallpaper, wired for electricity, stuffed a room with insulation, and even tore down a wall with a sledgehammer, but I’ve never built something completely on my own without anyone’s help or reassuring presence close by. I am very proud of myself.
In fact, realizing that this was an important occasion, I made sure to document it:
The first screw
(Third finger—you can barely see it)
In its rightful place
So there you have it, my desk. It looks neat now, but I’m sure I’ll soon fix that.