Things annoy me. Lots of things. Most things. Sometimes everything. I walk around in a perpetual state of irritation. It’s like the world is taking the piss.
You know the kind of thing. Your bed doesn’t quite fit the room and every time you walk around it your blood pressure spikes. It’s not long before the bed and how it gets in your way is all you can think about.
This bed ‘problem’ eats away at you. It becomes an obsession. You think about how wrong the bed is and how it ruins your room. You hate the bed. Until one morning when you’re innocently trying to find both of your work socks it occurs to you that if said bed was just 6 inches shorter it would fit the room better. Your bedroom would be perfect. Suddenly there it was, the way to happiness. You grasp it with all the strength you have.
Once the dream’s got hold of you you’re helpless. If the bed fit the room better you could start and end the day in a haven of correct proportions. You could walk around the bed in space that you have created. You might even find a spot for a small chair where you could sit and quietly read. What fool wouldn’t chase such aspirations?
Because you are no feckless dreamer, a feasibility study must be made and plans drafted. You examine the bed closely to establish the exact nature of its’ construction. You measure and re-measure. You draw up mental lists of the tools required and the necessary steps to be taken. Once you have assured yourself the plan is viable you are ready.
I suppose it might have been polite to tell the other occupant of the bed what I was doing, but it hardly seemed necessary. Of course they will be pleased, delighted even with the positive change I’m bringing into their life. Besides, in my experience it’s best not to give other peoples lack of faith and vision a chance to interfere with a good plan. What if you fuck up completely? What if you destroy the bed? Don’t internalise it. While you are striving for the perfect world others imagine devastation. If you take it to heart you’d sit on your arse most of your life.
As it was, I was discovered mid project, with bed bits, chopped up bed bits, tools, and dust everywhere. I was using a kitchen chair as my sawhorse while I removed the last 6 inch section. Trying to remember what St Johns Ambulance taught me about treating shock all I could say was ‘Don’t worry, it’s not finished’. My explanation wasn’t satisfactory, the reply was confused, ‘you’re cutting the end off the bed, chopping it down 6 inches and then sticking the legs back on?’. ‘Yes’ I said ‘so that it fits the room better’. The idea was ludicrous but made perfect sense and it was too late to stop now.
You’d never know the bed had had major surgery and it does fit the room better. The joy I got walking around it, admiring my work was immeasurable. Sometimes I did a little skip round just because I could. And I was happy, truly happy, for 2 weeks at least. It’s the kitchen doors you see, if only they weren’t grey, I can’t stand them. Every time I look at them I think how much happier I would be if they were different.