Thursday, January 7, 2016

Aspirations (Tiny Things)

Now Playing: The Pretty Reckless - You

Last time I hung out with Carla, she took me to a new apartment her mom had moved into.

Beforehand--I think through most of Carla's high school and middle school years--she'd lived with her mom, step-mom, and half-brother. Now that she's on her last year of university, married to someone with a stable career, and with a home in Hawaii, she helped her mom move out to a tiny apartment elsewhere in our city. Because she's doing some internship thing here in Miami, she told me she'll be staying there until she can graduate and move back in with her wife.

Anyways, the day we went to lunch, she asked if I wanted to see the new place. She prefaced it by saying it was a mess of boxes and kinda-built furniture and empty space, but I told her not to worry. I was super excited to see it.

I love seeing people's homes. I like kinda marveling at where they live and scanning their walls for photographs and seeing how they set up their individual rooms. Similarly I used to love seeing friends' dorm rooms--whether messy or clean, they were always decorated in unique ways. If someone has a bookshelf, I am all over it. I even used to wish I could work as a maid so one day I could, like, go make the beds at the White House or something and get to walk around the rooms. (Alternatively, since I have no interest in being in politics and I'm only a citizen by choice not birth, I could marry my way to the White House. And be the most radically feminist First Lady ever. Win, win).

When we got to the complex, I realized immediately it had the exact same built and feel as an inn. I've become fairly familiar with those after years of traveling around Florida for university or quick vacations in the Keys. I figured maybe the place had been a hotel inn once and all the suites had been repurposed and remodeled to serve as tiny apartments.

So we climbed the stairs and found the corner apartment. I'd already thought the outside had looked so, so, so pretty and lovely, but the inside was even better.

It had a single room, tiny closet, single bathroom, one small living area, and the smallest kitchen I'd ever seen. The kitchen was rectangular, with just enough space for one person to squeeze in. When I shoved my way in there--Carla standing at the archway, her back to their little dining room table--I saw like four or five coffee mugs set in the shelf above the microwave. One of them was shaped like an owl.

I think I let out a "SQUEEE" at that moment.

In fact, I spent most of that visit running from corner to corner gleefully. Thankfully her mom wasn't home, so she didn't get to see me act like I got to visit Buckingham Palace.

But it was because the apartment was so tiny and cozy that I was so enamored by it, to the point where I legit wondered what it would be like to live there and decorate it and write inside those four walls and make coffee in the world's tiniest kitchen.

It made me jealous. I've been to friend's houses that are three or four stories tall, have giant backyards, a labyrinth of staircases. And as much as I like them, that cozy apartment made me honestly jealous that I didn't have a place like that to call my own.

I think part of the reason is that tiny apartments make me think of sheds which make me think of the super famous writing sheds that so many modern authors have. My favorite by far is probably Chuck Wendig's. (Although his doesn't have a bathroom. Which I find strange. I drink so much coffee that, if it were me, I'd spent half my writing time running to and from the house's bathroom. Exercise bonus?)

But yeah. That apartment. It was so cute.

If I had an apartment of my own, it'd always be clean because I'm neurotic like that. (I clean everything and keep it spotless. Or I try, since I've always had roommates and family members who come in and wreck up a storm >_>). And with my own place, I'd invite people all the time for coffee and Publix bagels, and and and I'd decorate for all the seasons.

And and and I would sooo have a little writing corner. Like, it would be in shelves, and the top shelf would have my favorite books (or, more wishfully, author copies of my own books), and the middle shelves would have my journals and writing utensils, and the very bottom one would have coffee mugs. Cute, cute coffee mugs.

And I think I'd get a desk top computer. Cuz I actually really like writing in desktops but I've never had the chance to buy one just for me.

Alternatively, the benefit of buying a tiny two-bedroom house would be that I could set up one of the bedrooms as a studio. Then the studio would have my books + writing desk. Downside is that I'd probably never wander in the living room until the day I can afford a TV and gaming console.

It'd be awesome either way.

One day, one day. . .

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.