i had a couch in my old apartment ...

god, doesn't that opener just make you ache to hear more?

right. well, said couch died several months ago in my apartment. edward absconds all responsibility, and i believe him. a certain animal may have had a hand, but that is a little unclear. either way, it's no longer a couch that anyone would want.

• broken frame: check
• viciously clawed upholstery: check
• fur-covered cushions: check
• dark, drab color: check

the question is this - what do you do with such a couch when you move? the first obvious answer to me was "by god, i'll sell it on craigslist!"

having been roundly and firmly rejected in that endeavor, i reached the second natural conclusion (a service to which i have been introduced by law-abiding edward - previously i just threw my old s*&t on the curb for passerbys to rustle through): bulk trash.

now the issue with this is that because of my crazy doorways, in order to get said couch in my apartment, i had to hire someone to disassemble it and then reassemble it inside.

GRAH!

my plan (which rapidly became apparent to edward last night) was to put off dealing with it until the last day of my lease (today) and hope the couch fairies would take it away in the night. that's actually kind of my life-plan, right there in a nutshell. now you know. anyway, much to my dismay, yesterday, like any good mother, edward loudly insisted that i begin to plan for the removal process immediately. so ... we took over our little toolbox, which contains, like, a few screwdrivers, a hammer, pliers, and (ooh - exciting!) a mini-hacksaw to try to pull apart the couch ourselves.

fun! like being dexter!

we banged and screwed (ew, dirty people - not like that!) for several hours and managed to only get the front legs off, rip off most of the covering (so now like splinters and sharp screws and staples are ready to stick us everywhere), and pull out some of the stuffing.

the bulk of the work, like most things i do, was irrelevant or counterproductive. when i started to hacksaw the back legs off, edward stopped me (boo!)

so now the couch sits, ready for the final day. half disassembled in my old living room ... waiting ... taunting ... not at all leveled out by the hand of distance.

at least that's what my browsing history would suggest ...

as you can see, i've fully embraced edward's beloved term.

however, the question as i continue to unpack is this: why do i keep books that i've already read? it's kind of ridiculous, because i'm never going to crack them open again and they're all dusty and disgusting. i had to wash my hands like six times already today. gross!

i think i've re-read maybe two books in my entire life (patented tilda exaggeration is probably at play there, but it's close).

of course, i should probably do it more often. why?

hm. well, i have this weird disorder where i remember almost none of the details of the books i read within a month or so of completing them. it's totally bizarre, because i have an damned excellent memory in general (especially for perceived slights), i'm not a total idiot, and i also love to read.

but let's see ... an example ... i love flannery o'connor. however, i had to read a good man is hard to find like six times before i could keep the plot in my head. and it's a flipping short story.

on top of that, i routinely recommend books without having a clue what was in them. i just have a general impression in my mind that they were really, really good and i couldn't put them down. for instance, i made edward read secrets a couple of months ago, which i maintain is one of my favorite books, but when he mentioned things from it to me, i had only a vague idea what he was talking about.

whatever - i've made it this far. and i'm not as bad as edward, who appears to be keeping several books on indoor barbecuing as well as the te of piglet.