bright spots.

Today was supposed to be the day I was going to move from this bed on the floor to a real bed. It was supposed to be the day I was going to become the owner of my first real couch, and real bookshelf, and real mustard-colored chair. It was going to be the day where I finally moved books from boxes, and decorations from bins, and made Apartment 909 feel like home. But today is, now, just another day because after two hours on the phone with IKEA, my furniture isn’t coming. They lost my couch. They can’t deliver an incomplete order. They’re sorry.

No one wants to hear this. No one wants to hear that the furniture they paid for and have waited for isn't coming. No one wants to hear that the delivery day for which they took off work is now wide open, and a day in the near future, where they have to work, will now be filled with furniture delivery. Even in the midst of much shittier, heartbreaking things happening in the world and our lives, no one wants to hear this.

Once I got a hold of a real-life human, I think I handled the situation okay-ish. I asked the right questions, and didn’t yell, and only frustrated-cried a little bit. As I was being transferred to another real-life human, I apologized to Ashley for crying and being frustrated and not using the friendliest tone, and told her that I know this isn’t her fault. She laughed and said, “Girl, don’t worry. I lost my shit at Chick-fil-A the other day because they were out of the salad I wanted. Things suck sometimes.”

Once I got a hold of the other real-life human, I think I handled the situation alright-ish. I confirmed things that had been promised in my contract, and still didn’t yell, and only frustrated-cried a little bit more. When Maddie was helping me set up my new delivery date, we discovered she used to live right across the street from my new apartment. And as we were wrapping up the call, she asked, “Do you like sushi? There’s a really great place just right down the road. It’s called Blue Fin.”

And I guess why all of this matters is that while listening to the looped phone muzak while on hold, and finally eating my oatmeal that’s been sitting in the microwave since 9:30 am, and calling my mom and saying the F-word to her too many times, and sitting in the middle of the floor in my apartment, surrounded by bins of extra blankets and bags of books and a half-opened box of new sheets, I’m saying a little prayer for Ashley and Maddie. Bless their souls for being at the end of the phone line — phone lines with hundreds of people calling with questions and frustrations and tears every single day. For listening to, and creating space for, and being present with their callers’ complaints and words and feelings. Even if they think that callers like me are annoying or wrong or awful humans, they're still there. They still answer the phone and, I have to believe, try their hardest to make things better. They offer bright spots — today, in the form of Chick-fil-A salads and sushi recommendations — in hard situations.

I wanted to make this home feel more like home today, and I’m still going to do that. Who declared you need furniture to feel at home in a space? Today is the day for making this floor-bed a little more comfortable, for adding some photos of my favorite faces to frames, and for figuring out how to work my new laundry machine down the hall. Today is the day for finding the bright spots.

(And today is also the day for Blue Fin sushi for dinner, because Maddie said so.)