The home where I hide.
I love my apartment. I decided I was meant to live by myself pretty much the day I moved in. Almost everything I have is pink or green or painted or animal shaped. Almost everything I have would look out of place anywhere else. Also, no one would like it. The clock in my living room is shaped like an owl and hard to read and has resulted in my being an hour early or late more times than I like to admit.
I like my stuff where I can see it. Bags and sweaters on hooks on walls everywhere. I have four little cork boards in my bedroom for the sole purpose of displaying headbands and jewerly. Some people call it cluttered. I call it home-y.
I like my stuff. I like putting my stuff in my stuff. I specifically remember how excited I was to discover that my record collection and knitting basket fit perfectly side by side in my coffee table.
I'm moving on Wednesday. Into Max's apartment.
How things change. I realize it doesn't sound like it, but I really am excited. I also realize that having to reassure you of the existence of this excitement only makes it sound worse. I want to live with him, I just sometimes wish it could be here. I just don't see how all of my used painted clutter stuff is going to fit into the brand new matching espresso furniture set he calls home. Or we'll call home. He has no reservations about this at all. He just keeps telling me that our apartment will look like both of us, which both makes sense and seems to echo the kind of maturity one would expect from a 26 year old.
I just can't help but think that I'm really going to miss this little purple desk and the mismatching chair I spray painted gold after having stolen it from the basement of Carrie's dorm a few years ago.
I like my stuff where I can see it. Bags and sweaters on hooks on walls everywhere. I have four little cork boards in my bedroom for the sole purpose of displaying headbands and jewerly. Some people call it cluttered. I call it home-y.
I like my stuff. I like putting my stuff in my stuff. I specifically remember how excited I was to discover that my record collection and knitting basket fit perfectly side by side in my coffee table.
I'm moving on Wednesday. Into Max's apartment.
How things change. I realize it doesn't sound like it, but I really am excited. I also realize that having to reassure you of the existence of this excitement only makes it sound worse. I want to live with him, I just sometimes wish it could be here. I just don't see how all of my used painted clutter stuff is going to fit into the brand new matching espresso furniture set he calls home. Or we'll call home. He has no reservations about this at all. He just keeps telling me that our apartment will look like both of us, which both makes sense and seems to echo the kind of maturity one would expect from a 26 year old.
I just can't help but think that I'm really going to miss this little purple desk and the mismatching chair I spray painted gold after having stolen it from the basement of Carrie's dorm a few years ago.