getting by with a little help from our friends (and my calendar)

First things first:

Sad Elephant is getting a new home!

Sad Elephant in his sad glory*

* photo included for reference in case you, like my father, are unaware that "Sad Elephant" refers to a couch. And in case you are also unaware, yes, the Philiraos name a large majority of their belongings.

Most likely, he'll be moving in with one of our dear friends, who likes him far more than her current couch. That is, if he manages to fit in the back of her brother's car. All signs (and measurements) point to yes.

Also, I would like to point out that it is a good idea to put things on one's calendar. When I called for my Salvation Army pickup, I wrote down the date on my scratch pad. I entered the date, time, and confirmation number into my phone, along with the number to call and change the appointment.

The date was Friday, November 4th.

I proceeded to transmute this date into Friday, October 28th, aka: tomorrow. Pretty sure I did that out of desperation to get Sad Elephant out of our house. He kinda-sorta fits in the room (space-wise), but he's really impinging on our pilates practice space. And my pilates practice in general.

Yes, a couch refuses to let me exercise. New couch doesn't help the situation, as it is really freaking comfortable.

Husband and I are really happy that someone we know is taking Sad Elephant. True, we have been eager to get rid of him and move on to our modern living room, but we still have an emotional attachment to the couch. We've spent probably a year cuddling on that couch, if that's possible. (I did the math. Five years living together, a few hours a day spent cuddling on the couch, we've probably spent a year on it. What? We're excellent cuddlers. We'd win gold in the cuddle olympics.) This is not to say that we will go over to our friend's apartment and cuddle on our former couch. That would be weird. Cuddlers, yes. Weird, no. (At least we try not to be.)

So, in this situation, we'll have visitation rights. We're giving the couch up for adoption. It's a great way to treat your furniture. Show it that it's still loved, just by someone else now.

Best part of all of this?  Because the Salvation Army pickup is actually next Friday, if the couch refuses to fit in the back of the car, it still has someplace to go, and I don't have to wait for another appointment. (Because the Salvation Army has the waiting list of a really fancy restaurant. For serious.)

I hope, for everyone involved, this works out painlessly.

I hope, in the future, I will stop referring to pieces of furniture with personal pronouns.  (Haven't determined if new couch is masculine or feminine. Perhaps neuter. I think it refuses to gender identify, as it is modernist.)

relationship upkeep: correspondence

Perhaps the old days were better for personal relationships. You know, when communication options ranged from visits to letters. If you didn't write or see someone, you didn't know if they were alive or dead. These days, with email, text messages, social media, and the telephone (which becomes a less important function of the cell phone with each new model), we have almost too many ways of staying in touch.

Social media, perhaps the most prevalent, is also by far the most passive. You can let "everyone" know what you're up to in one fell swoop. And you can keep up with your friends without reaching out and asking how they're doing.

Very, very dangerous for actual relationships.

I got an email from a close friend yesterday and immediately felt sheepish about not having emailed her sooner. We both recently finished up our respective graduate degrees, so I can't blame grad school for being out of touch with people. We both are also modest Facebook users. We update here and there, but we certainly don't share every single detail. For instance, I didn't really know what she was up to--hence my sheepishness.

There comes a point when you haven't reached out to someone that you start to feel too embarrassed to do it. At least this is true for me. When one of us reaches out to the other, it's like we never skipped a beat, and I'm thankful for that. But shouldn't we actually not skip beats? Shouldn't I--the person sitting here "blogging" to an unnamed, anonymous, generalized audience--send personal notes to people asking how they are and updating them on significant parts of my life?

I should.  Thus correspondence becomes another item on my to-do list.

I have a bunch of emails I need to write to friends I haven't seen in a while--friends who have had babies, are expecting babies, friends who have gotten married, friends who are changing careers, and friends I haven't shared a few glasses of wine and a long conversation with in far too long--and I'm going to write those. I'm going to break out of my selfish, "my husband lives with me and we don't need to see anyone else in the universe" slump. Seriously, I only see people I work with, and people who live in my neighborhood. Those people are great, don't get me wrong, but so are the people who live 45 minutes away, 4 hours away, and across the country.

Is it appropriate that Pandora has elected to play "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" (Pearl Jam) right now?  "Oh I just want to scream 'Hello' / Oh my God it's been too long" indeed.

I'm having dinner with the friend who inspired this post--with whom I exchanged several emails yesterday--within the next couple of weeks. And she's volunteered to be my jeans-shopping partner in crime. Because wearing jeans literally taped together is not part of this project. And I need to step up to higher end jeans. And break out of fitting-room laziness and fear. And buy pants that last longer than a year.

I'm also going to listen to more Pearl Jam.