For the first time in a long time, I’m answerless.
See, at some point in the next 11 days, we’ll be moving into our new! bigger! brighter! apartment. With the stuff from our old! small! dark! apartment. And I’ve been given permission to paint and make relatively minor changes in the new place – as long as I return the suite to the condition I got it in when we move out.
Basically, to someone like me – regardless of budget – I was just handled the holy grain and told to stab shit like crazy.
But, for the first time in a long time, I’m looking at a space and I don’t have “I should….”
In fact, I come up totally blank. Can’t even wrap my brain around where to put the damn television or futon.
So, I ask you, WWYD? Get all DIY on me. Be inventive. Tell me what I want, what I really really want and don’t spare a damn zigazigahh.
Pretend that I have money and that I: need a place to work and a dining area; storage for at least 250 books (I haven’t counted, but you might want to consider that a conservative guess), 50 VHS, 200 CDs and over 100 DVDs; sleep on the futon, folded out, in the living room; own a plethora of cleaning enhancers; and think words are the bomb-diggidy.
The room where things will go to get cooked good.
This view’s from the cut-out that looks into the living room. To the left of it and directly opposite the fridge (4′ from the open fridge door, in fact) is a wall approximately 30″ wide (without an outlet). Under the cutout is a whole buncha usable space, too (also without an outlet).
Where I sleep, work, eat, teach, read, occasionally fornicate and plan to earn awesome abs doing the 30-Day Shred
This view’s from the kitchen side of the aforementioned cut-out. Did I mention that we have track lights in the ceiling? I haven’t had lights in a living room in years. All of those functions up there? I wasn’t kidding. I need room to do them all. Except for the Shred bit. I’m full of shit about that one.
Here’s another view, from the hallway/apartment door.
The place where Zoë does the same stuff as I do in the living room. Except fornicate. She’s not allowed to do that until she’s 12. (If you need me to tell you I’m kidding, you’re reading the wrong blog)
This where a preschooler short enough to still fit in a toddler bed with ample growing room will also house toys, a desktop computer and an easel. Also, she likes pink. Noteworthy is that the room will be painted pink over my dead fucking body. The opposite view:
Give ‘er.
Please.
