Along Came Me (and my Furniture)

Yes, I am aware that the title of this post points to a heinously awful movie, one that not even a rom-com junkie like me even likes. Oh Jennifer Aniston, please get a better agent. You're talented. But I digress. The only reason I even bring it up is to (what else?) draw a comparison to my life. There's a scene in Jennifer Aniston's apartment where Ben Stiller looks around at the mess and the boxes and the general disarray and asks if she just moved in. She replies that she's been there for 2 years. And that is the situation I find myself in today.

Now granted, I've only been here 2 months. But the feeling is the same. I probably should have unpacked those boxes that have been sitting in the corner by now. I probably should not be sitting in a folding pink $8.99 Target camping chair watching a DVD on my laptop propped up on an upturned box while balancing a grilled cheese sandwich on a saucer (not even a full size plate) on my lap. I probably should arrange things in a nice order in the closet and buy some of those nice collapsible fabric boxes to hold things on the top shelves. I should actually put my shoes on the shoe rack that I randomly put together one Saturday afternoon, but then got bored with the project before actually putting the shoes on it. And I should probably do all this before I start having visitors next week.

Apparently, my life is all about the panic. I've always been a deadline person. While I might have started a paper 3 weeks in advance, I inevitably finished it around 4 am the night before it was due in a nauseated haze of Diet Coke and Wheat Thins. Last time I was in the midwest, I nearly missed the bus to the airport because I was running through my parents' house throwing last-minute items into a half-empty suitcase 10 minutes before I needed to be boarding the bus. I've got to have that pressure.

I'm not really proud of that fact, and I'd like to change. I'd like to be the sort of person who does things in advance and then feels smug and superior watching other run around at the last minute like chickens without heads (what disturbing imagery. How did this become so ingrained in the American lexicon that we use it without thinking? Gross.) But when push comes to shove, I'm still the girl who only ordered a table, chairs, sofa, armchair, and TV this week so that when my visitors show up, they don't think I live in utter squalor. Beyond that, what's the point of having this nice apartment all to myself if I won't spend the money to make it comfortable? Ahh, money, my old nemesis. Your scarcity makes you always the root of my troubles. And the root of most of my neuroses, as well, come to think of it.

It's tough to shell out an entire paycheck on furniture when there is simply no convenient way to buy cheap furniture in this city. You could wander all day, from the Bronx to Brooklyn, and at the end of the day you'd be confused and angry and have aching feet.and still have barely been able to see anything in the few furniture showrooms that exist, still not be sure of what you want, still pay exorbitant prices, and still have to figure out how on earth to get it delivered. Almost everyone I've asked says that if you're looking for cheap, you're better off just picking something online based on the price and hoping for the best. And for me, even having done the research and decided what I'd like, there's this sinking feeling as soon as I click "purchase" that says "Are you even going to be living here that long? What if you move next year? Now you have all this furniture and extra stuff that you'll have to either sell (and deal with the hassle), dump (and feel like you just lost a ton of money) or move (and add to the nearly unbearable stress of the experience, especially in the city.)

Paralyzed by indecision and nagging doubts (two things that have not really been a problem for me in the past), it takes other people to make me move. So once the furniture arrives, we'll see whether I'll love it all and want to thank my visitors for forcing me to take the plunge, or curse them for sticking me with some ugly crap that looks nothing like what I saw online. I guess if worst comes to worst, I can always sell it on Craigslist... those weirdos will buy anything.