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bethb's Diaryland Diary

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An ode to my sofa.

I finally bit the bullet and went to Ikea today and bought a new sofa. I say finally because I've been researching and pouring over websites looking at sofas from the Value City end to the Joybird high-end and fell in the middle with an Ikea number.

I arranged for delivery and as I left the store, a peculiar feeling hit me- tonight is the last night I will be spending with my current sofa.
Friends who have spent uncomfortable sleepovers on the sofa will probably rejoice, but goddamn i love my sofa.
It's my dream sofa- a 1930's club sofa, burgundy mohair, wide arms, carved wooden details running the length of the arms.
This sofa (and a matching chair) i paid probably $125 for the set at a store in Frederick Maryland that doesn't exist any more. Even when I bought the pair, the springs were shot and the last few years I've tried to bolster the seat cushions with flattened boxes and seat reinforcing...things....
This sofa with the mohair perfect when I found it, luxuriated in the feeling of its pile when a friend of mine who was working for the office lobbying the legalization of marijuana brought party favors and the texture of the sofa came alive.
This sofa, when introduced at the house on Highwood, Sadie politely left alone, but my current cat was not so accommodating and now the formerly intact arms have the tattoo of a clawed cat.
This sofa, that Le Mari helped me move into the house on Highwood- the day that he almost broke my ankles by pulling me out of the van accidentally when we were dropping off a desk at the rehearsal hall and I snuck my sofa in on that delivery since I lived not far from the rehearsal hall.
This sofa, which will be replaced tomorrow by a new, grey, non-mohair covered sofa with a fake name and I can't bear the thought of splitting up the sofa and chair...which is dumb. They are furniture pieces, they are not living things. And yet, I can't help but think of them as an old married couple.
There will be good things about a new sofa. Such as not having to do a power squat every time i want to get up. Or having to tear it apart because the remote control has slipped into the abyss of the cushions yet again.
But there is no sense of history. Was i the second owner of my current sofa? the third?
I can pretty much guarantee that I will be the only owner of the ikea number entering my life tomorrow. Even if it is a sofa tarted up to look like an heirloom-worthy piece.
In 2015, I'm vowing to get rid of what doesn't work and as much as it upsets me, I have to admit that this sofa doesn't fit my life any more. It's falling apart, snagging my pants and tights on a bit of exposed wire from the frame.
I am telling myself that I did my homework. I am not just capitulating into the first Ikea sofa I plopped down on. I have to get back to making room for it now. I just felt like my sofa needed an obituary since it's been in my life for so long

6:59 p.m. - 2014-12-29

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