elbow wrench : directions ::

You want to think you're better at things than you really are. You want to think that you can handle anything life throws at you and when the time comes to really to step up to the plate you'll be able to follow through. And, unlike Alex Rodriguez up at bat two runs down at the bottom of the eighth, you won't cave under the pressure.

Well yesterday, for me, the time came, and it came in the form of a box from ikea. My New York apartment, albeit on the Upper East Side, is still somewhat small. The two-seater couch I acquired from back home makes just enough room for me and The Texan (my roommate from Austin) to sit snugly next to each other while watching Grey's Anatomy. But New York is the kind of city where you're constantly surrounded by people, pushed up against them in the subway, walking around them on the sidewalk, trying to avoid them (your boss) at the office. People here are everywhere. So in going home you long for a little space, a little time alone, the chance to feel like your life has more breathing room than it really does.

That's where the chair comes in. I bought a chair from Ikea, the only place to buy furniture when you're living in Manhattan and are so low on money you fully believe that two tablespoons of peanut butter out of the jar really constitutes as breakfast. When I hauled the box into the apartment I realized the test was upon me: assembly.

Looking at the one large picture covered with circled numbers and letters that correspond with the key in the lower right hand corner, I started feeling the way I did the morning of my SAT's, that feeling that perhaps I'm not as smart as I thought, that perhaps something that should be so simple, is in fact, very difficult. Thirty-five laborious minutes later all I had managed to do was piece together the two arms and connect them with a beam. That little elbow wrench only letting me turn the screw half a centimeter made me want to kill someone, and, as my hand started to cramp I yelled with frustration to the empty apartment "I can't do this is!"

There it was. I admitted it. I can't assemble chairs that come in boxes from Sweden. So I sat down with a cheap glass of pinot noir and looked more calmly at that one page of directions and accepted the fact that I'm not as handy around the house as I thought.

At least I know that until I work up the patience and brainpower to have another go, I can just put one of the cushions on the floor between the two arms, and have some personal space – because in this city, that’s priceless.