Cabin in the Woods

I stare at the the cabin in the woods— my cabin in the woods— and then at the key in my hand. I look back at the cabin— my cabin— and just…stare for a while. I bought a freaking house. I, a person who works with computers and requires Internet to do said work for a living, bought a cabin in the freaking woods. Why!? I sigh, shaking my head as my brain reminds me of my decade long urge to runaway from everything, and enter the cabin. It’s cozier than I thought it would be considering the price. I enter the cabin— my cabin.

Dust dances through the air and a blanket of it covers the floor. It’s like trying to breath with your face covered or pressed against something like a pillow. Glancing around, I noticed there’s almost as much furniture as a barren wasteland. Considering the price, that makes sense. I turn on all the taps. I open all the windows. I inhale the fresh air and curse at my impulsive decision to buy a literal cabin in the woods. I suddenly turn off the taps and close the windows and lock up the cabin— my cabin— as I leave. I start walking. 

I need to sell the cabin— why did I buy it in the first place? I mean, sure I’ve had the urge to do so since I was like what? Middle school? High school? But I never actually gave in to it…so why did I give into it now? Ah, what a pain. I should sell. I need to see it. It’s inconvenient. Really inconvenient. I’m a computer person. Cabins in the woods aren’t really known for their good connectivity— something kind of essential— and does the cabin even have power? Can it even have power? Commuting is already a pain since I can’t drive. Commuting from the woods would be even worse. 

I walk into the furniture store. As I try connect to the store’s Wi-Fi and try to figure out how to sell a house, I grab one of those order sheets and a pencil. Who am I still in contact with that would know how to sell a house? I scratch my head and the write down the alphanumerical sequence on the order sheet for a bed, a mattress and sheets. I briefly contemplate a dresser or something before deciding it’s a waste of money. I walk to the kitchen section. Even if I decided to move in, how would I even get my stuff there? It’s not like I have a car or I can call a move-in van or anything. It’s too…in the woods for that. I doubt my friends are free— speaking of them, how long has it been since we’ve talked? I scratch the back of my head as I find myself handing the order sheet to an employee.

“— this is in the middle of the woods.”

“Yes— let me guess…you can’t drop it off there.”

“Well, it is the woods—”

I cut the employee off before they can address me politely. I dislike it when people call me that, “Would it be possible to have it dropped off at a mailbox or a PO box then?”

“Let me check with the manager.”

I nod. Why am I even buying furniture? Sure, I might spend the night due to convenience, but it’s not like I’ll be staying there. I purchase a sort of wagon and tools. I’ll sell it soon anyway…hopefully, at least. I don’t have the money to spend on this without risking—

“— what are you doing?”

I glance up at the employee and someone who’s probably the manager, “Can you deliver?”

The probably-manager speaks up first in a way that seems almost arrogant or holier-than-thou, “If the mailbox isn’t located in a place where the items can be dropped off or something similar, then of course we cannot.”

Horrible Plan B it is then, “Alright. Can you ring the items out then please?”

I finish building the wagon thing and load what I bought on it. This is a mistake, I think as I try to trudge it back to the cabin. Why am I doing this? This is a horrible idea. My weak noodle arms are going to give out before I’ll get there. Also heart condition. That’s a recipe for disaster. I eventually have to stop. I crouch down in front of a store and try to lower my head as much as possible. I feel (and hear) my heart throwing a tantrum against my chest. I do my best to ignore TV static slowly taking over my vision. I also try to ignore the people walking by who are ignoring some random stranger trying not to pass out. I end up giving in and laying down. It’s not like it’s not obvious either. According to everyone who’s seen me like this, it’s very obvious and looks very bad. Apparently like “you need to be hospitalised yesterday” bad. I get up and stumble into the building. I buy a vacuum cleaner and some other supplies. I do my best to balance it on the wagon thing and start walking again, ignoring the lightheadedness and keep trudging forward.

Somehow I get back to the cabin. I enter and then my legs give out. I instinctively try to grab on to the non-existent furniture. As I plummet to the floor, I instinctively try to protect my head. For the most part, I feel as if I succeed as my hands feel like they’ve taken the brunt of the force. I end up laying on the dusty floor and stare at the ceiling. 

Ah damn it…at least I didn’t pass out in the street. Should I call someone to pass the time? I don’t have internet. I need to vacuum. It will probably help sell the house. I pull out my phone and try to figure out who to call. I try texting my friends, but I’m either met with silence or an apology and an explanation that they’re busy. I eventually give up and stare at the ceiling for a while before bouncing to my feet, dusting off the dust and try to figure out how to restart the power. After almost causing a fire, I manage to get it working. I start to vacuum the cabin I will sell. Furniture will probably increase the price too. I start building the furniture in the middle of what I think is the living room, but only put together the bed before putting the naked mattress on and dropping myself on it. I’ll deal with all of this tomorrow…it’s future me’s problem. 

As I fall asleep, my mind supplies me with a thought I was trying not to think: it might be future me’s problem, but this is past me’s dream. Maybe I’ll keep my cabin for a while before selling it.