When we first bought our house, I remember thinking it was so big. We had closets that were barren. We had entire bedrooms that were uninhibited. I didn’t know what to do with all of that unoccupied territory.
Now I look around that exact same space and feel claustrophobic. Sometimes I can’t even breathe. There’s no room. There’s crap everywhere (sometimes literally). There are people everywhere. Many of whom I don’t even know.
I lie in bed at night dreaming of a bigger house. Having space for everything. And everyone.
I dream of built-ins and built-outs. I dream of storage. I dream of organization. I dream of countertops I can see. I dream of outlets. Hidden outlets. Everything plugged in and fully charged and out of sight.
Sometimes when the panic sets in that I may never acquire all of these things, I begin to make compromises. I start making deals with the devil. Just my own bathroom. That’s all I really need.
If I could only have my own lavatory, life would be perfect. I’d have no complaints. My grass would permanently be greener.
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