The little table that couldn't

Not sure where to begin.

Suffice to say, I cannot let this table, or this thing that is not really a table, put my whole life on hold. And yet it is doing just that. There is no one to blame. I've just never made a table before, is all, and it shows. It's humbling. Very humbling.

The most significant defect in this table is that it simply does not stand up. It is Bambi on the ice. I've got it very precariously balanced in an upright position right now, but if I walk over to it and set so much as a piece of paper on it, it will probably collapse. The legs themselves are strong because they are steel pipe, but they are screwed into wood that isn't solid, so the wood gives and thus the legs wobble.

Looking at it from here, it really is 4" to 6" too high anyway. I was hoping for a quick answer, but I'm apparently kind of fucked on this. I don't know. I'll keep thinking. We'll see.

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In the broader picture, I have in fact moved all my worldy crap back into the Village Gate, which, for those not in the know, is a large building with a permanent identity crisis. There are independent shops and restaurants here. Bands rehearse here. Concerts, shows, exhibitions and other events happen here. People live here. It's sort of chaotic, but it's a haven for freaks, where no one ever says "that's weird" or "why would you want to do that?".

I opted for the first room available, which is about 250 square feet and has no window facing the outside. On the upside, it's dirt cheap. Hopefully in a month or so I'll be taking over someone else's room across the hall for the same amount of money, and it will have a window. I want to live cheaply for a while so I can pay off some debt and buy a few nice things -- but if I keep blowing money on things that don't work, like this table, it will defeat that purpose.