Oh, what a fun little piece! It reminds me a little of the poetry of Spike Milligan, a comic whose work I grew up surrounded by, which perhaps leaves me in a little of a warm and homely headspace that other readers might not get. But it helps! This piece is tied so strongly to a sense of the mundane—little discomforts, the everyday agony of a plan not quite thought-through.

The style here drifts a little away from the mundane, I think—and I'm not sure if that always works in favour of the piece or not? In places it absolutely works: "the massive sofa comes" is such a lovely line that has grandeur enough to spare, and sells the way that these problems seem to take up our whole world while we live them; "hope drained to the dregs" gives us such a dramatic turn, too, that deepens this feeling. Not sure it quite works for "raises lumps / that no ice packs can numb"—there's something about "lumps" with no qualifications that feels off to me, just a tad too grand somehow.

A minor nitpick, to be sure. To be honest, I love this one! It's well crafted, succinct, and does exactly what it needs to do.

An amusing message, and it creates a vivid mental picture. On the technical side, the rhythm is irregular, and comes/numb doesn't quite rhyme. Still, a fun piece of verse, and a situation I've been in myself.