Oh, My Broken Back...and Bed....

So, my bed broke. Yup. Broke.

No, nothing fun was going on. Unless you consider "sitting gingerly" to be a fun activity...

And, no, I have not gained a tremendous amount of weight rendering normal furniture unable to bear my gargantuan girth.

It just broke!

Granted, it's an IKEA bed that's almost 10 years old, so I suppose it should have been expected.

That being said, having a broken bed at the same time as a broken back is just cruel and unusual punishment.

As for my broken back, it keeps tricking me...feels better one day, then horrible the next...these set-backs are really depressing (Get it? Set-backs? Set-BACKS? Bahahahahahahaha! I'm hilarious. That's it: I'm taking my act on the road).

Anyway, the stupid screw things that hold the stupid metal support things to the stupid wooden bedframe thing came out, ripping the wood, resulting in an unsalvageable bed.

I suppose if I had power tools, I might have tried some sort of MacGyveresque fix-it job.

Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to own and/or operate power tools. I tried to buy a drill once and the guy at the counter referenced a big poster on the wall with my picture on it--Top Ten People to Whom You Must NOT Sell Power Tools.

Who knew? I mean, I know I have a propensity for clumsiness, but I didn't realize the danger I pose to myself and society had reached the hardware-selling community at large.

So my mattress now sits on the floor. I feel like I'm regressing in age. Although my behaviour has always belied my true age, I had some "stuff" that was representative of my supposed adulthood (wrinkles and gray hairs notwithstanding)....a vehicle, a bed, more than one room in my apartment... I have none of these things anymore!

Next time you see me, I'm likely to have only milk crates as furniture and a kitchen full of Kraft Dinner and cheap beer.

Help me!