Ikea has become the labyrinth, with only arrows taped on the path to thread us through the maze of inexpensive, yet tastefully laid out, relics of Swedish design.
I began to fade literally hours ago, and Katie's carefully planned snacks and strong words of encouragement have done nothing to halt the decline. I stand before the textiles baffled, defeated, my eyes dazzled with abstract patterns in primary colors that seem like obscene scrawls, ready to lay down in despair.
Katie is having none of it: "Scott, you're doing really well, but I need you to pull it together and just push through, okay?"
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