my own space

When I used to dream of living alone I had these romanticized pictures of me, coming home to my very clean apartment, hanging my key up in the right place, placing my shoes where they belong, listening to classical music and reading a book for hours.  I knew my place would be where I did the things that made me feel calm, at peace, and happy.

And then I moved.

It was a whirlwind of attempting to build furniture, spending hours trying to get my wireless hooked up before caving and calling in for help, dusty shelves, clothes on the floor, setting up my AC, setting up my AC again, figuring out how to make my AC quieter, fitting all my things into small nooks and crannies so they fit, lamenting the end of natural sunlight, and realizing that my kitchen will be where I indeed apply my make up because the bathroom is just too small.

But then tonight, was magical.  I came home exhausted and in a grouchy mood.  I'll get a massage (always my "go-to"), I thought.  It's right in my neighborhood, a block away - so I did.
I came home, ate some left overs, glanced at my arts and crafts box, and decided tonight was going to be the night I would make my dreams come true.

I cleared everything away, put on really calming music (as opposed to GLEEK on TV as background noise), and sat down on my rug with a bunch of materials. I worked away, enjoying my space, filling it with positivity and kindness.  I picked up a watercolor brush and then noticed the ever terrifyingly goofy smile that had spread across my face.  A content smile.  A smile that made me laugh.

I finished my piece, cleaned up, crawled into bed, and began to blog.  This very blog right here in fact.  And all of a sudden I have realized - this is all I ever wanted when I dreamed of living alone.  A space that I can fill with my things, in my way, to do the things that I want to do...

Until I am ready to share again, I'm going to enjoy this teeny box I have carved out of New York City.