Fun for today:

Sitting here, vegging on the computer, twiddling my virtual thumbs while doing a little bit of cleanup waiting for the nice young men in their clean white coats who are coming to take me my furniture.

I'm eagerly anticipating, both with vim and a little trepidation, the moment when, lugging up my queen-size mattress, my delivery-folk (god I hope and pray it's 'folk' and not 'person' (is 'folk' always plural? (is folks merely a hypercorrection, trying to pluralize a plural? (but I digress (even more) ) ) (wait for it...) ) turn the corner and realize that the stairway up to my attic-apartment (which shall henceforth be known as 'the loft' because I like the way it sounds, and because 'loft' is the last four digits of the phone number here) resembles the typical home-type staircase nowhere near so much as it does the skinny, steep stairs that grace the deep centers of medieval cathedrals towers; stairways intended to help the devout ascend, and little else.

Certainly not queen-sized mattresses and assorted other furnitures (speaking of hypercorrecting plurals into plurals).

The $69 delivery sounded like only a marginal benefit over renting my own truck to get these things home until I found out that it includes delivery to my apartment, not simply to the front door.

Word of wisdom for the day: The glory of IKEA is not that you assemble it yourself, but that you can, as the need arises, disassemble it as well. I seem to have this habit of living places where full-sized furniture has trouble getting through...