when the Ikea directions tell you not to assemble something alone, just follow the directions. You trust the rest of the directions, don't you? Oh well. Somehow I managed to construct my used bed frame without much injury. Thank you, Woot, for giving me a box that was exactly the height I needed to get the frame together.
But enough of that. More importantly, I have a bed.
I have not had a bed since college. Not a real one, anyway. I've been sleeping on air mattresses, my futon...*ahem* and other people's beds. But now I have my very own (not so comfortable) bed. It makes me one step closer to being an adult.
I've been criticized for lack of bed, lack of "real" drinking glasses, lack of regular leftovers, lack of other furniture, lack of cleanliness?...etc. All of these times, it's been hinted that "damn, girl, you need to grow up."
Usually I ignore and justify. I say I don't *need* these things. And since I don't need them, it makes future moves easier. Why do we feel that certain things define us as adults? And why does it even matter? As if cooking, owning a cat, owning a house, and generally keeping house is distinctly grown up. I can see how it's good...financially sound...or perhaps gives you a feeling of independence and maturity, but I don't understand why exactly it matters. I feel the same pressures and ideas, but I don't know what to make of it. And in my head, I have a very specific and not universally applicable definition of adulthood: the ability to make good decisions. Most of the time. And when you don't, know what the good decision is, even if you don't go that path. (For example, right now I'm having tortilla chips and dip for dinner. Is that a good decision? No. But I know it.) And I think I'm getting to my definition of growing up.
Anyway, I own a bed. Happy now?
