A couple months back I had the bright idea to switch my office and bedroom around, which turned out to be a monumentally bad idea. The office was relocated to the back of the apartment, past the kitchen and away from the street view and living room that offers me motivation when I sit down to work. Meanwhile, the bedroom now had the street view, and - at night - a streetlamp burning its essence into my brain as I slept.
I switched the rooms back around today, as well as tossed out an old sofa that I gained possession of when Sue and I finally stopped being roommates four years ago that had long outlived its usefulness.
After I switched the rooms around I did some moving around of the Chris Voit Botanic Garden, now in its third uninterrupted smash year in my apartment, and started getting inspired to fully utilize the front room for the sunroom I always aspired it to be. I think I'll get down to that order of business after Mothers Day.
Back in the day I would have been content to stack some milk crates up, drape a piece of fabric over it and call it a divan. Someone I dated briefly called it "early bachelor," 'cause I also was alright with having my California king mattress and box spring rest on the floor with just a simple fitted sheet covering it (I may have bought some actual bedding for it once she started sleeping over, although I doubt it which was one of the many reasons we only dated briefly). That was 27, 28.
Now I'm a month away from 39 and walking into Nordstroms looking for the right sized storage benches to parallel the front room windows and obsessing about the right tone of sagebrush to complement the tile in the fireplace mantle when I paint an accent wall.
I'm probably gonna make someone a really good wife.