Cut & Run



I turned, said, excuse me a minute, and pulled the water bottle out of my purse.

I took a large drink, finishing off the liter that had sustained me through hours of following small black arrows on the floor of Ikea, and breathed deeply.

Screw the budget, I will be ok, just get the help.

“Ok, do it,” I said to the guy at the Information help desk, one of many kiosks of hell that I had navigated around for hours, giving him the go ahead to charge me for another service at Ikea.

In toto, I spent $919.

Run away!

When I think about it, as I am reclined on my new bed with its five new fluffy pillows, new white duvet, new beachy duvet cover, new sheets, and mattress, it was worth every cent.

Frankly, I got away with a deal, if I am honest with myself.

I got a new bed, a new mattress, dishes for six, silverware, pots and pans, two sets of  glasses, bowls, knives, a can opener, pot holders, three frames (just finished framing my posters from Paris that I got at a book seller’s along the Seine the day before I flew back to the States), a toilet paper holder, three candles, a dish rack, plates, and saucers.

I did pretty fucking ok.

And my “I can’t go over that” money limit was $1,000.

I had no plans on spending it all, but I knew I could if I had to.

I worked my ass off at Burning Man and I am now reaping the rewards.

Or reclining the rewards, if you will.

But at that moment in Ikea when I was looking at the delivery costs and the assemble it costs and where the fuck is it in which aisle, I almost cut and run.





I had a bad, bad, bad case of the fuck-its.

In hindsight, that happened super fast, as soon as my friend and I were in her car, I realized that we had been in Ikea for almost four hours.


They know how to snag you and the lack of being able to see to the outside world,(sort of like being in a casino, now that I think about it), the unnecessary parading of you through rooms and rooms and corridors of things that you don’t need until you can get to the stuff that you do need, is exhausting and disorienting.

Add two trips to the bathroom and one to the “display” show rooms, after a full on onslaught of the regular store, and no wonder I was panic-stricken.

I caught my breath and turned and walked right through the





I said, ok, I will pay for that.

I will pay to have you deliver, assemble, and sort for me.

I hand it over, I am here to surrender, let me turn it all over to somebody else.

My friend went to check on something she was getting for her unit and as I stood there struggling to not go into financial shock, I have the money, I have the money, I have the money, I made a spending plan, I have a list, I stuck to the list, this is ok, the mantra of you are enough you have enough rolling through and calming me down.

Until I was calm.





I walked through the fear and said I would pay the piper.

Now, the fun part.

The guy at the desk said, no, that’s silly, let me save you the $40.

Go grab a cart, I will show you were the stuff is and you can load it onto the cart and take it to the check out and then go to the delivery people, you don’t have to pay to have me help you.

Well, ok, then.

I went, got a cart, and returned to the help desk.

He trotted ahead of me, I realized that he was probably doing something he was not supposed to do, and jogged along behind making wide turns with the flatbed cart to catch up to him.

He quickly pulled down the boxes and bits and ascertained everything that I needed and the next thing you know I am in line, having saved some dough, and my friend pulls up behind me and says, oh hey, that will totally fit in my car, you don’t have to pay to have that delivered, we can do this.


That was a brilliant turn of events.

I stayed put and I got the help I needed.

We got everything back to the house and I unpacked the vehicle, stacking things in their appropriate places.

While the unloading was happening my friend made herself some lunch and then I did the same and we ate on the back porch in a patch of sunlight that seemed to have poked through the fog just especially for our al fresco dining experience.

It was lovely.

Though not as lovely as the dinner I had later this evening.

“You need help,” my friend said to me as I sat with a bewildered look on my face trying to decipher the cartoon drawings that Ikea gives you with the 8 million pieces and parts of the bed frame.

“Call your guy,” she said.

“Ask him to come over early, before the movie,” she finished.

“I can’t do that,” I replied, anxious all over again.

The Mister and I were supposed to go see the 7 p.m. showing of Spark, A Burning Man Story, at the Roxie this evening, but the way the bed assembly was going, there was going to need to be a miracle for me to get it done before he arrived.

“Just ask for his help, I heard him say, if you need any help, to ask.” She looked at me and arched an eyebrow, “so ask.”

I am getting an idea of why I have been single for so long.

When you, meaning me, are as autonomous as I have been in my life, doing it myself, not asking for help, well, then why be in a partnership, I’ve got it all covered, can’t you see, I don’t need your help.

But I needed his help and I wanted his company.

So, with my friends assistance, I wrote him a text asking for help.

And lo, he replied of course, he’d be over in just a bit.

We never made it to the movie.

But I did get him in my bed, frame, that is.

Get your head out of the gutter.

It took forever.

Even with me having pulled it all out and laid all the pieces parts one end to the other, it still took hours and hours.

And it might be the best fun I have ever had setting up furniture.

Why have I been doing it all myself all this years?

I am an idiot.

Or just in fear.

A little of both, I suspect.

The bed, well, it’s made, with fresh sheets and a fluffy duvet and I am leaned up on some nice soft pillows and listening to some jazz.

And thinking about the dinner we had on the back porch, in the dark, with the crash of the surf in our ears, the mist of the fog on our faces, and some Thai Cottage take out in our tummies.

That and the text he sent me after he left about how I am scrumptious.


A new bed and I am scrumptious.

Here’s to walking through that fear.

I am done running away.

Here to stay.

For a good long while.

In my cozy new bed.

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