We're moving again.
It seems like that's what my life is made up of. Moving. A lot of it.
Well, good thing. If I weren't moving I'd be dead. So there.
This time we're moving into a great big house. Well, I say that because that's what we're looking for. We're tired of living next to, above, under somebody else and having to deal with what that entails. Living under someone who has three kids under age three. Well, one of them was six, but she was really short. I'm saying "well" a lot. Over somebody who played loud music and smoked weed. Next to someone who doesn't clean their yard, throws random bits of garbage and used toilet paper onto our back steps, and smokes cigarettes. Where I can't go sit on the roof outside my bedroom window because the air inside my room is fresher than the cigarette-tainted air outside it.
No more of that.
And I'm not letting us settle for anything less than five bedrooms. One for my mom and dad, one for me, one as an office for mom, an office for dad, and a workspace for me. Screw a guest bedroom; we can get a sleeper couch for the living room. The only extenuating circumstance would be if dad wants to use the basement for his studio like he did when we first moved here. Then we can have a guest bedroom.
I'm outgrowing my bedroom. It doesn't work anymore to have a 10x10 foot square space to do everything I want in. I need a studio. A workspace. Someplace different than next to my bed to have my desk - I need somewhere to think and be productive. And then somewhere to sit and relax and sleep.
So here's how I want to lay it out.
Bedroom:
Bed. Dresser. Vanity table (with mirror!). Beanbag chair. Dress rack.
Workspace:
Desk. Blue bungee chair. Bookshelves. Music corner (guitars set up with mic & stuff)(piano?)(not the piano, unless the room is really big). Art corner (easel, worktable, art supplies).
That's what I need. Because right now, I have all of the above (minus the piano) crammed into my bedroom. Do you see why I can't think? I mean, I make it work pretty well, but I need to spread out. Because for one thing, I'm twenty six years old. Why should I be pushing thirty and still be crammed into one little room in my parents' house? It bugs me.
But I can't afford to move out just yet. No, really. I did the math. With rent in NY, I really can't. Not on this paycheck. I honestly don't know how the other employees I work with make ends meet. Well, (back to the well again) they don't have cars. Some of them. The rest are married. So I guess their husbands pitch in. Yikes.
I ate a Chobani Greek yoghurt this morning - it was REALLY good. I want another one. Actually, I want pancakes, but I don't want to go and make them. We have strawberries, though, so they would make it worthwhile.
My mom has a dentist appointment that I need to take her to by eleven fifteen today. And Topaze has a vet appointment next Saturday. And I owe my coworker twenty five bucks for a dress she gave me. I'm going to stop exchanging stuff with her...just because it's now a bother. If I have to pay for something...I mean, I wouldn't spend twenty five dollars on a dress if I bought it myself. Why should I let myself be coerced into buying one from her? Just because she brought it to work? And it's PINK, to boot. Granted, it's a nice pink, it fits me well, and is extremely classy, but still.
It's the principle of the matter.
Anywhoo. I'm off to pay some bills, yo.
Laters.
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