All for love of a shelf

It’s now day 24 of living in new apartment, and things finally feel settled.  I’m very much a (though I hate to use this word) “Homebody.”  I have to have a comfortable place to relax otherwise I get very unpleasant.  Upon moving into the new place, Gentleman Caller and I set about creating spaces where we could exist comfortably–i.e. I tackled the kitchen, he took on the living room.  By the end of day one, we were able to eat well and entertain ourselves without moving around too much.

Next, I took on my office– set up my desk, my beloved chair, and unpacked a few boxes.

Gentleman Caller’s office is the room between the kitchen and the livingroom, but every time I wandered in there, he was playing video games or watching the Daily Show or Star Trek.  I started to worry– “What if Gentleman Caller misrepresented himself, and doesn’t mind living a life half-unpacked?  Can I cope with that?”

Answer is–no.  Even though I tried to rein it in, I got a bit bossy at times.  Finally, we sat down, discussed what we needed, and I took a trip to IKEA with Jewish friend, who also just moved and needs stuff.  IKEA was having a shelf sale, and I found one that I really liked, that was the right size, and that was a good price.  Of course it wouldn’t fit into the car.

I came home shelfless and a bit defeated.

Then, as happens in situations like these, Gentleman Caller got an email about some guy selling stuff including a large shelf.  He emailed, and was told that he was first to respond and we could come get it at 7pm.  We went to the house, guy wasn’t there, but the new tenants let us in and we started disassembling the shelf. The guy showed up, gave us a bit of static for taking the shelf apart before he got there (he was ten minutes late, and the shelf would have to be taken apart even if it wasn’t we who took it– he was an asshole); we pacified him with a cool $20, crammed shelf into car in such a way that required I sit half on the shelf and shoved into the smallest corner of the backseat (seriously, it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable, but there was a moment when I wondered if I might not be able to get out again); we took shelf up to apartment, re-assembled, oriented, and Gentleman Caller happily spent the evening organizing his books while I drank beer and watched 30 Rock.

Now, our house feels like a home.  There are no more boxes of things strewn about, impressive titles are on display, and there was room enough on the new shelf for assorted knick-knacks!

To look at that picture, you’d think we have no books–but that’s how big the shelf is!  Room to grow!