I’ve been meaning to write about this couch experience. Periodically I will do something that I know is not normal for most human beings. Like remove a fundamental item and live without it for several weeks, or maybe a month. The first time I did it was in my twenties. I was living alone and decided that I didn’t need a Television. At the time I thought it would spark massive creativity, I would paint more, do more activities. All I remember from that dark period of time was how lonely and dark the house felt. I needed my television. I didn’t do more, I got depressed. Weird how creature comforts work that way.

The current situation is a long story in the making. I inherited a guilt couch, which shouldn’t be confused with a love baby. But may feel a wee bit the same. I lived with my baby sister at the time who just happened to be slightly better off in that financial department than I was. As a single mother, I was largely patch-working my life together with overdrafts and payday loans at the time. We needed seating and she ponied up a hefty G for this couch. One of the biggest purchases she had ever made (bless her heart).

It was a large, red velvet sectional, with that kind of faux micro suede that picks up any kind of oil, dirt, moisture that it comes into contact with. At the time I had a small boy who was mostly made of those substances and an added dash of friction. The couch had attached cushions that were not made to be bounced on and eventual tearing and further degradation ensued. Needless to say in no time flat, the expensive couch was trashed and my sister was crushed as well.

This emotional burden made me loath the couch. She left it with me when she moved out and purchased another couch, but I felt like I and my child had destroyed something dear to her. I tried to soothe it over, I mean it did last for about 5 years, etc. a good run for a couch. But I never got over the horrid feeling this piece of furniture made me feel. Flash to the present. The couch now has gaping holes where the mint green stuffing is pouring out. I’ve tried to disguise it with throws and blankets, but eventually they slip and the facade is revealed that the couch is losing the battle.

A reoccurring theme on my perpetual “to do list” became get a new couch. But in order to bring in the new, you have to be willing, ready and able to get rid of the old. I was ready to make arrangements to dispose of the guilt couch. I think like most hasty disposals (think every domestic murder case ever) thoughts have only led up to the act of removal and not necessarily the aftermath. I contacted Got Junk for the removal. Scheduled the date and estimated the hit job for a couch would be around $150 dollars.

I found I had underestimated that cost by about $150. A financial hit I was quite unprepared for at the time. So as Scott Peterson had the foresight to take his boat out and craft a loose story of abduction – the thought or moreover cost of a replacement couch hadn’t entered my mind. I was so focused on the removal of the offensive object.

And now you have no couch.

And now you have nothing.

And now you are watching television on a pile of pillows in the corner.

I did have the space and the movement and freedoms I was expecting. But the experience wasn’t quite liberating. It was more like an additional punishment to end cap the whole disappointment of never having an adequate living space. And worst of all, I was starting to feel guilty about doing it. How dare I upgrade couches when I destroyed that one? Did I even deserve a new couch?

So the offensive object had been removed, but it did nothing to fix the guilt I still feel about abusing something my sister cared about. I almost felt remorse when they took it and a knee jerk reaction that I should keep it like a reminder – like a scarlet A for abuser. Logically I know that circumstances with a small child and general hardiness of the couch should also factor in. And it was not my fault that the couch degraded as quickly as it did, but I could have taken precautions. Like lectured my son more and kicking him off immediately when he started jumping on it. Spot cleaning after every incident and or maybe not eating on the couch at all. Gradually the worse it got the more damage I actually wanted to do to it. It was like my own portrait of Dorian Gray. I mean I stopped cleaning up the beer spills or cereal milk spatters. I almost encouraged the open destruction of the couch that had created such mental anguish for me. A passive aggressive form of retaliation and revenge.

So to wrap up this mindless rambling fast forward to a couple of week of living without a couch. Now we have “new couch”. Guilt-free couch, smaller and less comfy couch. Maybe it’s just going to take some getting used to. Surely beats sitting on the floor like an animal.

Within 2 hours the cat was attempting to use it as a scratching post. Facepalm my life. 

Now all I need is a coffee table, Moroccan pouf, leather accent chair and suede ottoman and my life will finally feel complete! (right, riiiigh?)