I just need to move. That much is clear after I once again spent the day moving my furniture. I did not find enlightenment. You know what else I didn’t find?
- My apartment is not a gigantic tetris board. Changing the angle of my furniture will not suddenly win me a prize or suddenly bring up a new apartment.
- The meaning of life will not be revealed once I find the perfect location for my couch.
- My luck won’t change, and my love life will not improve depending on which corner houses my waste basket. I know. I’ve moved it everywhere.
- Furniture is not like tea leaves. The arrangement will not reveal my destiny. Also, you can’t drink it.
- Apparently, I really didn’t hide a treasure of untold fortune anywhere in the apartment. Whatever.
- My writing will not suddenly start flowing once I’m done– largely because I’m NEVER done.
- There is no portal to another world in my wardrobe. Who can I talk to about this?
- I want to write a brilliant script. That has nothing to do with arranging furniture, but I thought I’d just throw that out there.
- Drinking more wine does not make moving furniture easier. Who knew? It does make me care less, though. So that’s something.
- It did not clear my cobwebs, make me look thinner or bring me inner peace– though after moving all that furniture, I won’t have to go to the gym. Small victories.
Is there anything you do over and over again hoping for a magical result?
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