"Yeah?" I answer from the couch, folding shut my magazine, stifling a yawn. The Mrs. is standing across the room, glaring at a piece of furniture.
"Do you think that chest of drawers would look better here than this trunk thing?"
"I don't know, Lope. Maybe."
She stares down at the trunk and exhales loudly. I really don't have any opinion on the matter, having decided long ago to defer to the artist on aesthetic matters. All I'm thinking about is how heavy that chest of drawers is, and how it's upstairs, and how I'm not wearing shoes.
"Yeah," she declares with finality. "I think it would look better right here."
I try not to react, but a small groan escapes my lips.
Ultimately, of course, we ended up moving the furniture. Not that night, mind you -- I did talk her into waiting a day, citing my lack of proper footwear -- but the following evening. Lope and I removed all the drawers, finagled the empty shell down the stairwell, and situated it precisely where she had decided.
"...It doesn't look right."
She didn't like it there. So we tried it across the room, behind the couch. Still no good. Back up the stairs it went, both of us huffing and puffing on each step, and the trunk went right back to its original location as well.
For now, at least.
So here's my question. (It's more of a solution requiring a proof, actually...) I got to thinking about rearranging furniture, and how even though it's difficult and frustrating, it's worth it because eventually you end up with a space you love. But I have a hunch that this is wrong. I'm pretty sure I'm thinking wrong there, because even once we get things in place, eventually we'll just move 'em again anyway. The end can't justify the means when there *is* no end...
So what's *really* important, what *really* matters, I guess, is the process. The evenings we spend considering and picturing and stifling and groaning.
And to truly achieve enlightenment and tranquility and supernatural oneness and whatever, I've got to find a way to enjoy that process. In its own right. Right?
I feel like I guessed the right answer but can't retrace how I got there.
Also, if my task really is to find a way to cherish my daily struggles, how on earth do I go about that?
Oh, and one other question, just to keep things from getting too cosmic here: how come I can't stop laughing anytime I say (or even think) the words "quality snacking"?