My Bed

Yesterday, as you may recall, I had to move my bed around so that I could get thoroughly clawed by my cat. (One thing I like about my family is that we all know enough to break into a bar or two of Cat Scratch Fever whenever this occurs.) My bed originally came from Ikea, but over the years it's been, uh, modified a bit here and there by me and my mad carpentry skillz. It's hard to keep track of those allan wrenches and after four or five moves, I at least tend to lose all the special little pegs and screws too. Not to mention that we had another Ikea bed or two and, after the last move, the bed pieces and bits all came together and I ended up with a kind of Frankenstein Ikea bed which has needed my mad carpentry skillz on more than one occasion. A couple years ago I basically rebuilt the entire thing with some two by fours, a cordless screwdriver and a lot of swearing. So I didn't get all the screws in all the way ~ so it was a little lopsided ~ so it squeaked oddly - I'm a great carpenter. I can't believe how people get so anal about these things.

This morning I woke up in a crevasse. The damn bed collapsed again and now, even as I type, the two futons which go on top of the bed are jumbled into the edges of my small room and the pitiful remnants of the frame are on display. I'm waiting for the screwdriver/drill to charge. But it doesn't look good. I don't know if I can make it all come back together this time. I'm worried. And there's one hell of a lot of dust and dog hair under my bed.