A Time Of Trial (UPDATED)

     ...is upon me.

     Today I must face a test of strength – physical, emotional, and spiritual – that might exceed my powers. I must give it my whole attention for however long it takes. I must clear the decks, such that no competing task can deflect me. I must bring my full powers to bear against a terrifying foe, all my forces engaged and none held in reserve, until one or the other of us has been vanquished.

     Yes: I, the Curmudgeon Emeritus to the World Wide Web, face a trial so formidable that except for this brief notice, I shan’t be able to provide you with a tirade this day. It really is that severe.

     But what is this challenge to my Herculean powers, I hear you ask? What unimaginable monstrosity from the Stygian depths could daunt me so? Though even to think it makes me tremble, I shall tell you, that you might be moved to pray for my safety, or at least for the salvation of my immortal soul.

     I have purchased an item of customer-assembled furniture: a desk. And today I must assemble it.

     Experience, you understand. I’ve been through this many times. It’s never been pretty. On one occasion it was nearly fatal. (It was a safe. UPS insisted on leaving the kit at the curb. Never again.) Though I’ve girded my loins and am prepared to charge in full battle cry, I dread what’s to come.

     Even if I succeed, it will leave me exhausted. Unfit for civilized company. I’ll be no good for anything for the rest of the day. The C.S.O. might have to hire a nurse to look after me until I’ve recovered. (She’s much too smart to attempt it herself.)

     Expect news of the ordeal tomorrow: if not from me, from the executor of my estate. Until then...

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     UPDATE: Finished – both it, and me. In case you were wondering, it’s a glass-topped computer desk I bought at Staples. The instructions were entirely in cartoons. Several of the puzzle pieces were unlabeled. I had to take a partial assembly apart three times. Perhaps the most aggravating aspects of the thing concerned a pair of mislabeled legs and two TOP stickers that were attached to the bottoms of the pieces so labeled...but with nearly invisible arrows pointing to their other sides.

     In a rare sop to the sardonic side of such torments, there was a package in the kit that contains two miscellaneous bolts of different sizes and a self-tapping screw, none of which have any part in the assembly. It’s labeled EXTRA HARDWARE. Clearly, someone at the factory has both a sense of humor and a relative who's endured this sort of agony.

     If there’s a Hell, and my sixty-three years under the veil of time persuade me that there must be, it surely has a section where the inmates must assemble and disassemble customer-assembled furniture for all eternity. However, I can’t imagine what sort of sin would merit that fate. Perhaps I’ll ask my pastor on Sunday.