Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Eulogy for my futon

My futon couch is dying. I still hold out a little hope that we can fix it, but John is very pessimistic about our chances. Once of the main crossbars has broken off, and it is now held up by a pile of books. This is annoying because we’re trying very hard not to spend money. Also, it is a huge pain to move anything in or out of my place, which is on the top floor of my building. The building itself is at the bottom of a huge hill. And nowhere near the parking lot. We had kind of decided not to buy any new furniture until the glorious day comes that we can afford a house, and then we can have any new furniture sent there.

But what makes me really sad is, this is the first piece of furniture I bought for myself. Not only that, it is a symbol of my independence from my domineering family. My parents were not pleased when I decided to stay in Boston after college. Actually, they were downright hostile about it. All of my friends got things like cars and furniture and kitchen stuff and money as graduation gifts. The one thing I asked for was $150 so I could buy this futon and frame I had seen, because I didn’t have a bed. (And let me make this clear – my parents had plenty of money at the time. They had $150 to spare.) What I got was a lot of anger, yelling and dire predictions about how I was going to fail miserably and be starving in the streets in no time.

Naturally, this made me determined to prove them wrong. Even if I had been starving in the streets, I wouldn’t have come home, but luckily, it didn’t come to that. I still don’t know why they thought I was so useless. They had just spent a fortune to send me to one of the best colleges in the country. Anyway, I had an apartment, but no bed. I couldn’t sleep on the couch -- which naturally, belonged to one of my roommates -- that was already taken by our friend Ariane, who paid us discounted rent since she didn’t have her own room. Finally, Jules’ grandmother gave me this trundle bed she had, and lent me a dresser. I am a small person, and I barely fit in this bed. Still, it was something to sleep on, and I was grateful.

After a while I picked up a summer job working for the Park Service. As soon as I got my first paycheck, I bought myself the futon and frame that I wanted. It was so comfortable. And it was mine, all mine! (Did I mention that I was forbidden to take a lot of my stuff from my room in my parents’ house?) I took a photo of it and sent it home to my parents too. Jerks.

When I first moved in to my current place, I decided to buy a real bed and make the futon a couch, because my living room is huge and it needed more furniture. I’ve definitely gotten my money’s worth, but still, the thought of saying goodbye to my futon is making me a little sad.

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