After a friendly dinner of locally caught herring and on-sale red potatoes, we put together my bed frame.
There’s a lot of peace in not minding a mattress on the floor (especially when it’s on a cheery rug), but there’s also always a tipping point of stagnation, of well, this is my life that just doesn’t support flow or growth or expansion.
So I asked for help from someone who actually said “I wish this was my full-time job” and wasn’t being sarcastic: there was, I posit, the same satisfaction as putting together a Lego kit (though it increased exponentially once we went to get some power tools, ignoring the explicit instructions not to use them and thus saving ourselves an hour at least).
And not only did I end up with a cuter bedroom (and a hideout for the cat, lone socks, and as-yet-unformed dust bunnies), I got to do a thing that could have felt sad and insecure and sharp and criticized but instead felt safe and steady and a little fun and goofy.
When we were nearly done we took a break and had red wine and chocolate cake, and if you ask me, this is the best thing about being an adult and having to do it all yourself: having someone lovely to do it with.