A couple of days ago my dad came by and helped us mount four new shelves onto the concrete wall in our living room. All's well, I though. Hell no. The day after one of the small shelves fell down just as X was loading a couple of items onto it - mind you, those were a few items, far and wide away from the 15kg's that shelf's supposed to be able to carry without any problems - onto her arms and the floor. I still shudder at the thought of X getting the weight off that fucking thing. Anyway, dad arrived that very night and fastened it - or so he (and we) thought, although with trepidation. Dad could very well be wrong. So, what happened?

Last night, as X and I were watching TV, I heard a landslide sound, followed by disaster; the upper shelf careened down and hit the nether shelf, ending up with both falling together, hitting our new table that's just below it.

I think we both sighed an inner sigh. It's happened before, just like I wrote, but not both at once. I felt sad and angry; sad because I hadn't controlled my dad more and angry that we had to go back and re-do everything. Damn it, dad told me that the shelves would stay up! I should have listened to my own intuition instead.

During lunch today I went to Wirströms, a place in the south of Stockholm city where people actually know what they're doing; when I showed one of the people who worked there one of the plastic plugs and one of the screws used, he condemned them both: "The screw should be long enough to pierce the plug, and you should really use galvanised screws." He then correctly guessed the name of the shelves we're mounting and told me we should have applied the suggested number of screws (e.g. 8 for the smaller shelves). I felt like a damn fool.

Tonight we're re-setting the shelves again, and I mean all of them! We're going to fill the mounts with screws and I'll make sure that dad doesn't say "oh, three screws will do, the shelves'll never fall!". Especially since I made a little discovery this morning. What, you ask?

On the mentioned table stood my MacBook. When the shelves went Humpty Dumpty they apparently hit the computer, because when I opened the lid this morning the top left part of the screen was cracked. Cracked. No worries though! I still wonder if I suffer(ed) from PTSD because I was/am quite calm about the whole thing. I think it's because I nowadays value materialism a lot less than I used to. I'm just glad that shelves are fairly unscathed so that we can mount them tonight, for the last time!

Until then, I'm happy with details such as the golden decor panels in our bathroom and our blissful, serene bedroom, and more is literally being done by the day.