Late-night bourbon lips

I've run out of energy. Momentarily. I mean, really, have I ever been known to run completely out? I've just been focusing on other things. Like finding a place and getting ready to move and adjusting to this crazy work schedule. Trying to stay sane and still have time for real-life things even though all I want to do on my days off is sleep and recover and then go to a coffee shop and read and write all day. Which, although it makes me feel productive, feels a little anti-social. Aren't I a little young to give up on friends completely? I sort of like being a self-made hermit, it has a certain ring to it, sort of romantic in my mind; like Thoreau living simply by a pond so he could focus on his thoughts. I'm also reading Walden, which might not be helping to make me any more social. It makes me want to curl up in a cabin in the woods and never come out again. I saw an add on Craigslist for a little cabin near a river just about 20 minutes drive from where I'm living and it said "perfect retreat for a writer or artist," and I wanted to go buy a car and move out there without even telling anyone. Despite the frustration of not being able to get a hold of anyone at any given time, not having a phone right now has made me feel pretty good. I have limited how distracted I can get. If I go out with the intention of writing or reading no one can call me and tell me they are a few blocks down having a drink and I should come join them. I make more plans with myself and find it much easier to stick to them. I don't have anyone to talk to either, so I do a lot of thinking. Which can make me feel a little crazy sometimes, but usually is good. It's one of those steps that has really helped me write more lately. The next step is moving to a place with no TV. Although I won't be able to watch basketball games as easily I also will have one less distraction. Maybe I'll just abandon the Internet too and live completely without everything but books and pencil and paper. And food. Maybe firewood. Maybe blankets. This is the sort of thing I've been imagining lately. A life with nothing but what I need. I wonder if it would actually be as good as I imagine. I certainly wouldn't have any friends. But it's not like I hang out with people much anyway, even when I do have a phone. It's just that not having one has made me notice just how convenient they are. Life takes a lot more planning now. It's been good and bad. I've built some good habits. I've wondered about becoming a hermit. I've also wanted to cry and scream because I've been so frustrated. Good and bad in everything.

Anyway, the point of all that was that I'm moving soon and going to be away from the Internet as well as my phone so I'll pretty much be AWOL and I hope you don't need me. And the blog might have a  bit of a pause, but I'll be back. With a vengeance. 

Beginnings

1.

He woke up with a bump on his head. Oozing and throbbing a little, it was smack dab in the middle of his forehead,and he wondered how  it could have gotten there without him noticing. Had he been sleepwalking? Had someone crept into his bedroom and whacked him on the head while he was sleeping? Had he been hit so hard the memory portion of his brain had been wiped out and he would never be able to remember anything ever again?

He jumped out of bed and ran to look in the mirror above the bathroom sink. There it was, bluish and crusty, a gruesome third-eye. He bent over and splashed some cold water on his face. The thin film of dust that had been clinging to the bump washed off and now it glowed electric blue and magenta. He splashed water in his hair and tugged at it and tried to brush it down so it would cover the bump, but he only made his hair flat and didn't cover anything up at all.

He glanced at his watch. Half-an-hour until he had to be a word. At least he remembered he had to go to work. His memory was still slightly intact. He wondered if he would remember how to drive his car. Was that more of a muscle-memory force of habit kind of thing or would he sit there and not know what to do? What if he couldn't remember the way? He closed his eyes and sagged against the bathroom sink and tried to remember anything from the night before.

A woman in an electric blue dress. Waves pounding against the beach. A crescent moon. Falling into bed and pulling the quilt tight around his chin, yanking the string on the lamp. Nothing that meant anything. Maybe he had a concussion. Maybe he had Alzheimer's. Twenty minutes until work. He brushed his teeth, pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed his fleece and found his car keys sitting on the kitchen table. Not where he usually left them.

Catching his reflection in the mirror by the door he shuddered, then turned and went back to the bathroom to find bandages. It took four to cover it, but once he couldn't see the bump anymore he calmed a little. He hurried back to the door, grabbed his keys again, and put on a ball cap to help hide his forehead. As he opened is front door he froze as he caught of whiff of jasmine. 

2.

My mother broke every dish in the house that day. I think it was his smile that always got her. His gap-toothed smile that promised her the world and more, the leathery cheeks and thin lips that told her he would work hard and take care of her. His smile that could be ruthless and cruel, but never when he smiled at her. When she woke up that morning, the sheets still warm where he had lain minutes earlier, she looked out the window to find her truck gone and her dog with it, and though it was the truck she needed it was the loss of the dog that stung more. And my father, of course.

I cowered in my bedroom, head under the blanket, a flashlight determinedly pointed at my book, desperate to avid her wrath as she screamed curses and broke every piece of her mother's china, one by one, every mexican glass cup, every platter and bowl, then moved on to throwing pots and pans and scattering silverware. She stood in bare feet and nightgown, hair wild, and wailed as her feet started to ooze blood where splinters of glass had betrayed them.

I shivered. Alice was in wonderland chasing a white rabbit and I wanted to be there with her, and tears streaked down my face and I closed my eyes tight and wished he would return and pick her up off the floor and sweet the glass away and bandage her feet and cradle her in his arms and make everything alright. He didn't come.

The morning wore on and I stayed locked in wonderland listening to her whimper in the kitchen until she quieted and the sun peaked and I mustered myself and shoved away the covers, pulled on a pair of boots and crept into the kitchen to find my mother in a heap near the sink, sleeping in a pile of glass and crusted blood.

I crunched to the back porch found a broom and swept around her, careful not to make too much noise and disturb her. I picked up the silverware and pots and put them back in the cupboards and drawers. After I was done cleaning up I tiptoed closer and, kneeling down, I climbed into her lap and curled up, shivering. She stirred and wiped her eyes, then, seeing me for the first time all morning, she brushed her fingers across my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Pumpkin," she said.

"I know, Mom."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh. I swept."

"Thanks, Pumpkin."

"Is Daddy gone?"  A quiet tear slithered down her cheek.

"He's gone, Love, and the truck and Poncho with him."

"So now I'm the man of the house?"

"Oh Honey," she exclaimed, "Don't you worry. We'll get this figured out."

"I'll take care of you, Mom." She shivered. I tucked my head closer under her chin and trembled.

Jane

I want to be just like you. You make me laugh and cry and want to quit my job and move out into the wilderness and watch animals all day long for a living. You make me feel like a child again. Your sense of wonder at the natural world; your methodical way of recording every action and reaction of the chimpanzees you study so you can later put it all together into a cohesive study and see the patterns fills me with curiosity about how I evolved from one of them into me. I know it took millions of years, and yet from the way they act it seems that if only we could communicate with them they would tell us that they feel exactly the same emotions we do, and that we just have some sort of superiority complex when actually we are not so very far from them at all. They seem about as distant from me as children living in a village in Southeast Asia. I don't understand their culture, but I know we feel similar emotions. The way you write makes me empathize with Chimpanzees. I feel their pain. I can see why they do what they do. Isn't that the same? I know, close but not quite. 

I come alive when I read about you. People in the coffee shop sitting around me look up as I laugh out loud and wonder how I can be so engrossed in a book that I don't even notice they are there. You remind me of me. I have the same wonder, the same fascination, the same desire to study and watch and learn from the world around me. I recently had an ant infestation in my house, and instead of killing them or getting grossed out I peered down close and watched how they followed each other and always walked the same path as the one before and once realized I had been watching them for forty minutes. I just wanted to see what they were doing. I wondered where they had come from and where they were going. I hadn't even read your books yet, but as soon as I did they resonated with me and made me wonder if I could find a way to do just that. I think you're supposed to have scientific degrees and stuff like that to watch animals these days, the world has gotten more and more preoccupied with qualifications and experience and you can't just say that you love something and get a job doing it anymore. Too much competition. I'll have to find some way to do it by myself. Sit in my backyard and watch the birds fly by and see if any of them are nesting in trees nearby and pull out my field guide and try to identify them and do it on a regular basis and see if they have any distinguishing marks so I can tell them apart. Maybe get some binoculars. Draw sketches. Of course birds in my backyard and an entire jungle full of chimpanzees are two very different things. I wont have to deal with nearly the same obstacles. It won't take me weeks of wandering around before I even see one. I won't get stuck in the mud and cut by branches although I might get pelted by rain. I can't ever really duplicate what you did. I just want to. I have so much respect for people who give voices to animals and show the world what they are really all about, and I think you have done that more than anyone. You showed us that they aren't just mindless creatures. They carry their young around when they die and form long-standing relationships and even kill each other over territorial battles much like humans do. I felt like I was there with you and I cried when Humphrey died and you stayed up all night caring for him and I laughed when they played together and I have never felt like a book was more real. You brought me there with you in a way I have never experienced before and I thank you, because even though I can never do what you did I feel like I've been there and done it with you. You're my hero, Jane Goodall.

Oh Blazers you've broken my heart

So I had just gotten done telling my friend about how awesome the Blazers are doing and how excited I was to watch them play today, and how they really should win every game on this four-game road trip because none of the other teams that they are playing this week can stack up against them, when the ball slipped through their fingers at least seven times in the first quarter and they gave away easy points and were ice cold shooting and tripped over their own feet and somehow managed to dig themselves an early 25 point hole that they never recovered from and got stomped by a team that shouldn't have had a chance. And I can make excuses and say maybe they were tired or something but really they just stank and it was a game I would really like to forget and was definitely the worst they have played all year. 

I don't want to be a fair-weather fan and suddenly say they are crap because they lost, but I can't get over how much they should have won this game but completely threw it away. I'm so disappointed in them. I know they can do better and that's the worst part. I can't figure out why it happened this way. And for someone who is always searching for a reason that is the most difficult part. I know they played badly and I can see how they did but not why. Why did everything go wrong at the same time?

Character sketch

I want to create a character, one character who I can really love, one character to write about for a while, maybe sometimes from they're perspective and maybe sometimes about them from other character's perspectives; put them in different scenarios and use different writing exercises but always write about the same person, so I can really get to know them. I want to see what it's like to focus that much on one character. It's my new writing goal. I'm also doing a little bit of writing every day (not all of it ends up on here because sometimes I get off work and am too tired to even turn the computer on, but I figured you would understand) which feels really good, like a real commitment to myself, an investment in my future. If I can get it so I'm writing about the same thing every day that will be quite an achievement. That will show discipline. Which I can't say I have always had. I think I learned it from running. Anyway, I hear it's valuable when you want to be a writer so I think I'll try to covet it, starting now. I'm starting with the every day thing and working my way up. So far it's going really well, I'll let you know about any progress. 

So about that character... I think they need to possess a lot of things I want (not necessarily possessions, maybe characteristics or ideas) so I can really like them and want to hang out with them every day. I know I can't make them too perfect because then I will hate them, but there has to be something, or many somethings that keep me attached. Maybe they'll be doing something I've always wanted to do or living somewhere I've always wanted to live. I was thinking about putting them in a place I want to learn about so I can do some reading or research on the area to make everything feel more authentic to me. I've always wanted to live by the ocean, so lets start with that. A small ocean town. Probably tourist-y as seems to happen so often. Seagulls and salt and lighthouses and sand and shells and fishing line and knots and driftwood and windblown scrubby plants and cliffs and dramatic skies and harsh storms. It all sounds so intriguing to me. I think it will be enough to keep me interested. And, for the realist in me, lets make him a man. Men are much more likely to hold my interest, lets be honest. He's well weathered, hard-working and quiet. Maybe a sailor. No, too generic. He draws caricatures on the boardwalk. Too artsy. Hmm... He's a fishmonger. He works on the docks and throws fish and guts them and smells rotten and gets all oily and sunburned and cuts his hands sometimes on the ropes and sometimes on knives. He knows a good fish when he sees one. He can tie all kinds of knots. He's up before dawn, takes a cold shower and is out the door. He lives just outside of town in a cabin overlooking the ocean. A few miles down the shore there is a lighthouse and he can see it from his bedroom window, and it flashes all night long across his pillow, and he likes it that way. He doesn't close the blinds. He's not grumpy or crotchety as most hermits are. He's younger. About 30. Maybe a little sassy but certainly not mean. What are his dreams, his fears, what motivates him and what holds him back, why does he do what he does and what made him that way? Sadly I'm too tired to answer all the questions. This is just the beginning. Someday soon he'll have a name and an eye color and a car make and model and a favorite shirt and some bad habits to go along with the more complicated stuff, and I'll let you know when it happens. I'm so excited!

To you, friend of mine who is true

Remember when we layered our skirts and draped scarves around our heads and wore all the necklaces and bangles we could find and pretended we were princesses? Remember when we tried to make cookies without using a recipe, listing in our heads the things one might find in cookies and guessing at the amounts until it looked sort of like dough, then dumping it on a cookie sheet and watching it slowly ooze and flatten and become a cookie-pancake? Remember Y2K when we watched Help! and sat on your parent's bed and wondered if all the lights were about to go out and the world was about to end, and then the next day drove out to your aunt's and rescued a cat, then sat around on the floor looking at books of baby names, trying to find the perfect one while the cat chirped and scampered all over us? Remember truth or dare when I would always give you two options, one was the thing I wanted to make you do but you didn't want to and one was the far worse option that forced you into choosing the first, like "either kiss this boy you secretly want to kiss and have a crush on but you don't want him to know and you are nervous, or else run naked down the street screaming the national anthem." Remember when I graduated and moved out on my own and my new apartment was 2 blocks away from your parents house, so even though we didn't go to school together anymore we lived closer together than ever, and then once you graduated we moved in together and the first night we were there, before anything was unpacked or curtains were on the windows, we pulled out a boombox and all of our cheesiest CDs and had a dance party in our underwear in the living room right in front of the picture window looking out on a busy street? Remember the tornado that came within a block of our house and you and your boyfriend were outside watching it and called to tell me to get the hell down to the basement because it was headed my way? Remember when we tried to make our two dogs live together but we were always gone and all they did was bark while we were gone until the upstairs neighbors went absolutely crazy? Remember watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer all night long and getting so excited about it our fists got sore from clenching them so hard and our eyes glazed over and got red from staring at the screen for so long and still we could hardly get enough and had to go on to watch Angel just so we could stay in that world once we had watched every episode? Twice? Remember my last night in town, the end of an era, when you gave me your copies of my two favorite seasons of Buffy and then I got a little too drunk and left them at the Mill and then had to go back after they had closed and pound on the door to be let back in because there was no way in hell I was leaving such a nice gift behind? I knew how much it meant to you. Remember peeing with the door open and cooking dinner together and sleeping in each other's beds and being a family? I moved away and now we never talk and sometimes when I feel like something is missing I remember how we used to laugh until we couldn't stop anymore, and all it took was a glance from one of us to the other and we would start right back up again. We couldn't look at each other without laughing so hard we cried and had to clutch our stomachs. I miss you.

This is the mouse that I rescued

She was going to be fed to a snake but the snake wasn't hungry so she lived in its cage for three days with no food and finally they had to take her out and feed her because a snake won't eat a mouse that's already dead. Enter: me. They said, "Here, hold this mouse that we are going to feed to our snake when it finally gets hungry." And I said, "No way, this tiny thing is mine, all mine. I will call her Susie." And I took her home in a chinese take-out box and put her in a tupperware with holes poked in the lid and now I hold her and let her crawl all over me every day and we are going to be best friends.

Writing exercises/warm ups

Spend five minutes listing all the things you would be doing right now if you weren't making yourself write.

Showering

Shopping

Eating

Wandering

Wasting time on the internet

Reading

Wishing I was running

Wishing I was watching basketball

Listening to music

Watching TV

Feeling guilty

Eating more

Watering plants

Playing with Susie (pet mouse)

Calling friends

Thinking about writing

Wondering if I was wasting my time

Feeling guilty

Emailing

Facebooking

Myspacing

Youtubeing

Checking NBA.com

Doing the sudoku

Knitting

Sewing

Thinking

Sleeping

Makes everything seem less worth doing. (Makes writing seem like the best option)

Spend five minutes listing things you dream of possessing.

A bed

A banjo

A better bike

A dresser

A wardrobe

A laptop

White Converse All-Stars

Antique/heirloom jewelry

A water filter for camping

A lighter sleeping bag for backpacking

A thermarest

A bigger backpack for backpacking

A fleece jacket

A car (any car that would take me out of town)

Season tickets to Blazers games

An I ♥ Rudy t-shirt

Really comfortable running shoes

An espresso machine

A working cell phone

A subscription to National Geographic magazine

More bookshelves

More books

My cat, Cricket

My friend Abbey's dogs

An ipod

Want to know something sad?

When I was thinking about all the things that have happened to me over the past year and trying to come up with a single most defining characteristic, or a statement that could sum everything up, the first thing I came up with was, "The year of getting over him then obsessing about him then not getting any closer to getting over him then thinking I am finally over him only to realize I am not."

The thing that defines my year most is someone else?

I'll give you a little bit of history:

We dated when I first moved to Oregon (summer 2006)

Everything was tumultuous (fall 2006)

We decided we were in love (late fall/early winter 2006)

Everything was even more tumultuous (winter 2006/2007)

We broke up (Valentine's Day 2007)

Everything was tumultuous (after that 2007)

We tried to be friends but mostly despised each other (spring/early summer 2007)

Notice that we weren't even together for half a year.

Notice that it has been about a year since we've been together.

Notice the tumultuousness.

And yet somehow it sticks; sometimes barely an itch and sometimes a dull ache and sometimes a pang so sharp I feel I might collapse, but always there. All year. Sadly, it does spur many of my motivations. I hate to say it, but I think I want revenge. I want to be the one to tell him I don't want him anymore. I want to be the one who is relaxed and confident and gets over it. Thing is, getting over it is one of my least-honed skills. I've just never really wanted to. Getting over it always sounded too much like giving up, like throwing the white flag and moving on. Which are all things I have trouble with. And so I obsess, without really knowing why and completely conscious of how detrimental it is to my health. Bah! I shake my fist at you, world who made me obsessive and stubborn (or focused and determined, depending on the day) and extremely passionate, which is part of the reason I can't let go of "love" whenever I think I might have encountered it. Oh romance. If only you were like you are in the movies. Warm and fuzzy and sweet, and full of passion and vigor.

Sometimes I think I am more in love with being in love than with the actual person I can't get over. I want that feeling back. I can't find it anywhere else and I know I felt it then so I mope and pine for those good old days when everything was perfect and amazing and I somehow forget about all the tumultuousness, until I remember and then tell myself that it's better for me this way and it wasn't a good fit, and point out that I now know how to make myself happy, and I try to force a small bit of logic in and tell myself to just get over it because I don't want to be with him anymore anyway, but the trouble is I was never very good at logic. I form emotional attachment to words and sentences and animals walking by on the street and people I've never even met, and of course the attachment only gets stronger when they are people I have met and care about, and all that emotion just wipes the logic right out. I brim.

And I love that I brim. It's one of my favorite things about myself. I love it that I literally shake with excitement. I think it's great that I can get so emotionally invested in something that I can't contain it anymore and I have to cry or scream or write something fast to let it out. So I can't even make a New Year's resolution that says, "Note to self: Stop brimming and being so emotional so you can just get over him already!" because it would contradict one of the most important lessons I have learned all year. To be myself. Whatever it may be, good or bad, just let it out and accept it. So maybe by following that idea full circle I can conclude that the best way to get over it is to accept the fact that I'm not over it and just let myself go crazy until (hopefully) there is no crazy left. Because naturally I will get over it. It's just a matter of time.

Until then I need to focus on more positive things. And maybe try to train that focus away from myself and my inner anguish and out at the world. How are you all feeling?

In Wonderland

"It's an experience," she said.

Yeah right, I thought. It was a furniture store. A cheap furniture store. There was some cute looking stuff in the catalogue, but isn't that true of most catalogues? Nonetheless, I was excited to have money to shop anywhere, and I always like to get cool things for my imaginary perfect apartment that is maybe going to materialize one of these days and be the cutest thing you've ever seen.

The plan was to get some spice jars that had caught my eye, cute shape, clever design, a fun thing to have in a theoretical new apartment where I would suddenly start cooking. In, out, look around, spice jars. An easy early-morning stop before we headed back home.

"Are you sure you want to go in the morning? I don't know if you'll have enough time..." she said.

Enough time???!!! Spice jars!

The date was set, the plan was made, shopping in the morning with someone else's money, yippee! And the fact that she was so excited made me think maybe it was an extra-cute furniture store. Where you could buy swedish meatballs. Weird.

The bright blue and yellow doors greet me first thing in the morning, along with a cheery employee and several signs imploring me to take a map and a pencil and write things down so they'll be easier to find later. Huge arrows point THIS WAY and I wonder if we are all shopping like sheep, or ants marching along in a little row. Can't I just wander?

"Be careful and stay together, cell phone's don't work very well inside and if we get separated it will be really hard to find each other," she says.

What am I in second grade? I have to hold your hand while I'm shopping, too?

After using the bathroom in preparation for my long and arduous journey I follow the arrows and step onto the escalator toward the SHOW ROOM, tensing a little in anticipation and trying to get a glimpse of my fate before I quite get there.

As the escalator tops out, suddenly, before my eyes room upon room come into view, all neatly furnished with cute and inventive details, every room with its own style and colors, everything apparently designed by geniuses. Open the cupboards, pull out the drawers, slide the door, look inside, everything cleverly organized in cute little containers, neatly tucked away.

For a girl who is currently living with a walking human tornado who thinks everything should go where it is within reach (make-up on the couch, red pepper flakes and salt and pepper shakers on the coffee table) this is like walking into the life of my dreams. Or heaven.

I browse from room to room opening every door, cupboard or drawer I can get my hands on, marveling at the things that pop out. They make really complete rooms, with a hook for the oven mitt near the oven door and real books on the shelves and real clothes in the closets. The only thing that does not open is the toilet-seat as my mom jokingly pretends to pee in the mock-up bathroom.  We sit in chairs, peek into corners, marvel at modern engineering and space saving ideas and ooh and ahh at decorating schemes, completely losing ourselves in this magical fake world.

I find some shelves that I really like and look at the tag to see what I'm supposed to write down to find them later. Aisle 12, bin 32.

I imagine long dark rows with oppressively tall shelves filled with flat boxes for more convenient shipping. 

"Put it together yourself," they say, "you can save money."

What if the box is too heavy or I get home and realize I'm actually not very handy and should really leave that job to someone else?

Moving on, we come to a giant room filled with nothing but couches and chairs, different colors and styles all lined up for easy color coordination, and we take the opportunity to take a break and test out a few chairs. After finding the chair of my dreams (and curtains that match) I ask someone what time it is and realize I've already been shopping for more than an hour. All I've been doing is following arrows through a maze of fake rooms with no end in sight. There's still a downstairs. And meatballs.

We decide to hurry since neither of us is buying furniture and most of the other merchandise is on display downstairs anyway, so now we walk faster and rooms start to flash by, living rooms, bedrooms, and then kitchens and work spaces and offices, and I start to feel like Alice in Wonderland, moving down a hallway and seeing doorways into different worlds flashing by. Every so often I'm drawn in by something in a particular world and that room snaps into focus for a few seconds until I'm rushed on again and everything is once again a blur.

Finally we turn a corner and spot the cafeteria- meatballs, salads, salmon, cinnamon rolls, a breakfast with eggs and toast and hashbrowns for $1.95.  It looks like a mall food court, with people lining up and pulling their selections out of coolers.

We nix the food because we are in a hurry, and instead grab a drink of water before heading down the escalator to the lower-level, a basement-like cavernous maze filled with piles and piles of things in boxes. Everything looks cheap close-up. I'm immediately overwhelmed.

I look for the spice-jars from the catalogue, and pick up several other things that I think I want, but always put them back down and move on to the next, amazed by the amount of stuff down there and limited by the $30 gift card. What is the most important thing to get? The most fun? What will I use the most now, and what will I use the most later? Should I get something that I probably won't use at all now, but will really like once I move to a new place?

It's all sort of too much for me, and while my mom decides on a few purchases I start to think I can't get anything this time, because I can't really decide and I don't have enough time. And it's hard to go back to get things I saw earlier, what with all arrows and everything. After a little pushing I decide I can always come back for those things and just move ahead, picking out a duvet cover and a lamp that will always be useful no matter where I live. We plow on through the piles of displays and try to hurry, and finally decide we don't have time to think anymore and we have to just go check out. Right at that moment I remember the bookshelves I had been looking at and set off down Aisle 12 to find it. At bin 32 I stop and look again at the cheap price-tag and the cheaply made shelves and decide to forgo it and just stick with what I've got. I don't really have space for more shelves in my room right now anyway. That big flat box would just take up space until I move. 

Satisfied that I made some good choices I move finally to the check-out line, buy a large tarp-like bag to carry my stuff in, and blink as I walk back out into the sunlight. I feel dazed and confused and a bit wobbly, and I look back over my shoulder at the building looming behind, remembering the wonderland upstairs. We shopped for two-and-a-half hours. Rushing. There were things I still wanted to see.

Next time I go to Ikea, I'm setting aside a good three hours. Or four.