Ivar is now sitting in my living room.

Ivar is a piece of furniture from Ikea -- a simple pine contraption that I've pulled together as an entertainment center, and which looks like it could all collapse at any given moment. 

Ivar looked funny when he was assembled and sitting in the place where he belonged.   So I got a level out to check Ivar.  Ivar wasn't level!  Strange, because while creating Ivar I used a level to keep him straight.  Well, turns out the floor in the corner Ivar occupies is sloping slightly.  I also discovered one of the corner walls has a slight slope to it.  The place truly has a montrose feel now, with Ivar gently sloping towards a wall that is slightly sloping towards Ivar.  There is some sort of harmony about this.  Or perhaps not.

I don't know why Ikea names their furniture things like Ivar and Sven and Sturn.   And why not Beat?  In any case, I shall endeavor never to let Ivar enter another journal entry.  Unless, of course, Ivar does indeed collapse and leave everything in a terribly sad, but amusing, heap.  Only then will Ivar return to the journal.

* * * *

That was the strange part of  today's entry.  On a more sobering note, my friend Samantha had a crap day that involved the misdeeds of another person (which raises an interesting question -- just how much detail should go into a journal?  I think I ought to keep the details of my friends' lives private, revealing things vaguely like I did just now, if at all -- and that's been my practice so far; on a related note, that's probably why the journal sees so few entries about Callie).  This was troubling.   My friends are so valuable to me that I hate it when bad things happen to them, or people treat them far worse than they ought ever to be treated.  Bad mean people should leave me and my friends alone!  Bah (as Melusina/Lilith/Vastasia would say)!

Copyright (c) 2000, Kevin L. Whited