I’m not good at acceptance. I struggle and fight against tide after tide. I wrangle with nature, people, situations, status quos. I do not settle.
So moving to this new place will be an exercise. To reconcile myself from my current living space – complete with it’s doors and windows that don’t close all the way and toilet seat that is a little too wiggly – to the new one – smaller, darker, less functional (but with more closets!) – will be an effort.
I mean, yes, I’ll paint and decorate it as much as possible. I’ll spend some extra cash to buy some shelves, housewares and paint all of the furniture going into Isobel’s room in a bright aquamarine to contrast the lavender walls I’m picturing. I’ll make curtains and an afghan and toss cushions. I’ll try to make it an actually designed-looking space.
But I still know that the insignificant floor plan will drive me a little willy.
Heh. A little willy. Anyway.
I’d thought that spring cleaning had left me with so little, that I’d be fine and great in a smaller space, but then I found a smaller space. And I’ve realized that my desk, office chair and computer will probably not fit in my living room (which is where my queen-sized bed, TV, bookcase, coffee table, filing cabinet and a small dresser should also be hanging out). I’m ruminating on the fact that I’m going to end up tossing out two more big things: the desk and the chair that lives in Isobel’s room. The chair that I used to nurse her in. The chair that she decided to pee on last week.
The biggest imposition of this further decluttering will be that my desktop will have no where to live and I’ll end up putting it on my coffee table and blogging, plurking and reading from the floor. My poor bony ass.
A laptop is looking like more of a priority than ever. Like a scrimping on Starbucks priority. And that’s some serious precedence, yo.
