02/365

Living in a studio apartment is beginning to wear thin. Yes, it's a pretty little space, it's a beautiful old building, and it's really ample room for one person. But there is something that feels Not Very Grown Up about sleeping in your living room on a teeny bed that you had to borrow because it's all that would fit while you store your beautiful big QueenSized wonder at your parents. Yes yes, wah wah wah, Wealthy Country Problems. But, le sigh.

For the first 2 years I solved the living room issue by putting the wee bed in my eating nook. Which made it sort of feel like a bedroom, at least it had 3 walls. Except that I stared into the kitchen at night, the fridge screaming at me in sleeplessness. And the bedding started to smell like Cooking. Sleeping in the kitchen was just very odd and sometimes made entertaining interesting: Come, make yourself comfortable on my bed while I make dinner.

So now the bed is in the living room. Which makes the kitchen business easier to navigate but unveils a whole other set of not-quite-rights. Like decorating a bed to not feel like a bed when really, c'mon it's a bed. In the living room. And there's the It Feels Like a Sleepover problem. Having friends stay on the sofa (giving shelter is a non-negotiable to me) makes me feel like we might as well put Grease on the telly, dance around in our PJ's and paint each other's nails cotton-candy pink. And, since I had no choice but to turn my eating-nook-bedroom into an "I Work From Home" office, gone is a dining table of any sort. Which turns dinner parties into eat-on-your-lap parties, and all that to say, I find myself not knowing how to operate in my space anymore with other people here.

Which is so very not the point of a home, to only feel ok when you're in it alone. No, no, no (she says with a pout and a wrinkle on her brow).

So, conundrum. I'm slow as molasses when it comes to making moves and besides that the rent is decent and most importantly, I have good friends who live at the end of my hall. But I might start poking around the neighborhood regardless, crunch some budgetary shiznit and see what comes of it all.

I have a Dream Space in my head, surely someone is just waiting to give it to me for nearly nothing, oui? Righto, off I go to hunt down that quickly discarded copy of The Secret, what's that Ms. Byrne said about visualization and taping your dreams to the ceiling? Surely she's not totally full of idea plagiarism and shite.

I suspect this all sounds whiny, but I'm not feeling whiny, I feel lucky with just a bit of itchy feet syndrome :)
Peace all!
T.

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Photo, today.
Two pictures of The Problem:





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Listening to some old David Gray this morning ...