This is what my new bookcase SHOULD look like:
Now I'm halfway into it, but this is what my new bookcase looks like:
And THIS is how I feel:
What a shitty week it's been so far. While one issue's (hopefully?) been resolved, I go ahead and buy something like this. What's more, I talk myself into thinking I can actually set it up on my own. What a load of bollocks -- the damn thing is taller than me! More than once, I have looked lustfully at my liquor cabinet, but decided against it for fear of causing permanent injury to one of my multiple limbs and orifii. I am already covered in scratches and bruises from this cunting thing, but I know I'm too stubborn to leave it as is. Argh.
I have reduced myself to a sweating, heaving, grunting mass in the loungeroom. My hands have been ground to nubs, and it's so goddamn hot that I am making this godawful bookcase in my jocks. What a lesson in over-estimation, my own stubbornness, and humility.
Trust me, the aforementioned action is so much more depressing than the visual. I need a drink, and a free kick at some Swedish guy's cags.
[update] Christ almighty, it's 1:49am and I give up. I have put every ounce of strength I can muster into assembling this pile of shit, but it's not happening. I am so done -- the stupid thing can sit against the wall on its side until Jerkface comes over. I hate admitting defeat, but I'm knackered.
[update #2] Holy creeping Jeebus, it was like losing my virginity all over again. What a comedy of errors! Oy, I think I'm going to sue Ikea for emotional distress. It's the morning after, and I've woken up to caked blood on my knee and a few impressive bruises on body parts I didn't even know I had. I attempted the bookcase again, but this time, with a hammer to help me along. Now, not only are my knees buffered shiny on top of the carpetburn, but I've put a couple hammer dents in the bastard thing out of sheer frustration. I'm now going to fully give up and wait for Jerkface to swing by. I'm heading out tomorrow night, and I'm going to look like a battered housewife. Brill.
[update #3] 4pm, and the middle segment of my ring finger has suddenly gone blue and is the size of a small, freshly sponsored and grain-fed Ethiopian child. And it's very tender, much like Captain Testicles up there. If it turns out that it's not a bruise, then I will call it a localised and very aggressive sepsis from an unrelated and undocumented incident involving Charlotte, an early, sneaky escape out of the cot on Tuesday, that ended with her throwing everything in the bathroom within her reach into the toilet. Eh, I needed a new toothbrush anyway, and I can afford to lose an entire roll of nice toilet paper. Hell, why don't we just burn all our money now, while we're at it, eh? Argh. I also have a killer bruise on the back of my right upper arm - I'll have to get Misha to take a photo of it for me tomorrow night, since we're heading out for a cold beverage or two or four or ten.
