I am totally fixated on this couch and chair.

They are $100 dollars.  They date back to 1997.  They are from Ikea, they are frightening and floral and I want them so bad.

I get this way about some bargains, I don’t know why.  And not even logical deals, like, “Oh hey, twelve cans of Coke Zero for $3.99, but twenty-four for $4.99?  Great!”  Because I’ll walk right past that, and then buy a half-liter bottle for $2.50.  That’s how I roll — super-shopping feels like failure to me, like “getting good grades” or “being in shape.”  It’s a conventional ambition, it’s what normal people get excited about.  My consciousness doesn’t allow me those pleasures.

No, I have to get the best grade or just not even bother; I have to drop half my body weight, or there is no point.  I have to buy gigantically large objects for the price of a couple of bottles of liquor, or else I might as well just go buy brand new ones.  Why else make an effort?  If the consequences aren’t comically extreme, why, then anyone can do it.

That guy better not have sold them yet.