Decaf Apartment

Yesterday morning at the gym I became obsessed with going home and cleaning my apartment, but not just cleaning, purging. Target: coffee table that is too big for my small living room and a pain in the ass to move each time I have company over and need to open the sofa bed. In my mind, the coffee table is also the only thing keeping me from practicing yoga at home; if I had that empty stretch of carpet in front of the TV I would pop in yoga DVDs all the time. (I'm not naive enough to fully believe my own excuses, but we'll see. I might surprise myself.)

So still in my gym clothes I took two trips down the two flights of stairs to the street. The wooden frame was bulky but surprisingly light, and the large piece of glass that sits atop was heavy but not impossible. (My biggest concern was knocking it against a step or railing and smashing it to pieces.) I set them both on the edge of the sidewalk, against the curb, and came back upstairs. Took a few minutes to re-arrange the remaining furniture, changed out of my gym clothes, peered down at the street from my window, and there was my coffee table sitting in the back of a pickup truck parked at the curb. Less than five minutes.

Goodbye.