Last night, I trapped myself inside of an IKEA Hemnes dresser. I was trying to single-handedly move this massive thing through an extremely narrow space into the utility room but there’s this funny little protrusion of knobs and metal casings that I’m pretty sure is part of our ancient heater, and it’s located in such a way that I couldn’t simply slide the dresser through. All the drawers had been removed so it wasn’t exactly heavy, but I quickly became aware of my faulty logic: I propped two of the legs on the metal casing, thinking I could get inside the hollow interior of the dresser and lift it up and over the protrusion. WRONG. I crawled inside but wasn’t strong enough to lift it nor could I maneuver in the tight space. Then I accidentally un-propped the legs so that I blocked the opening where I was able to initially crawl in, and now I was well and truly stuck.
I hollered for K, but she was two floors above me and couldn’t hear my pleas for help. Crouching inside of the dresser, I contemplated my plight. The faint strains of piano music floated down from above, which meant she had started practicing, which meant she might be clueless of her trapped mother for at least another hour. I had no idea when M would get home from work. Conundrum. I thought of the book entitled The Extraordinary Journey of the Fakir Who Got Trapped in an IKEA Wardrobe that I purchased many months ago and made a mental note to read it. I had a whole new level of appreciation for the absurdity of my situation. Maybe it could become a book! It lacked in plot somewhat, but could I incorporate some deep insights that came about from my unwitting incarceration?
That daydream was cut short because K and I must be cosmically connected or she didn’t want to practice her piano or something since she came bounding down the basement stairs calling my name a few minutes later. “Why are you inside of the dresser, Mama?” It was a very good question.
Between the two of us, we were able to release me from the dresser innards and move it smoothly into the utility room. We high-fived at this impressive display of girl power, and I now finally had enough room in the other part of the basement for my outrageous fabric stash.
Remember how I was going to go through and purge? Didn’t happen. I decided to just move everything back into the basement because I was beset by choice fatigue. I left just two of the baskets you see above in my sewing area and congratulated myself on this wise choice because 30+ bins of fabric = insanity. Besides, I’d already spent too much time inside of a dresser and I’m a woman on a mission to get things done. Upwards and onwards!