Today I officially have one month left of solo living. I assume & hope that this is the last month that I will do this for the rest of my life, as it’s because Boyfriend is moving in November 1. And the hope is that’s the beginning of the cohabitating for life phase.
My surroundings are a big deal to me. Disorganized clutter makes me angry, irrationally. Things that weren’t picked because they are awesome are a waste of space, for the most part.
I once told my mom that I was “visually starved” living at my parents’ house. It’s gotten better there, but still. You can tell when design dedisions have been massaged, and when they’ve just been made. Or at least I think I can tell, but you’re just going to have to trust me that I’m right, and not just having dellusions of grandeur.
I’ve mentally set out to organize and clean and make pretty my own stuff in my apartment before the space stops being just mine. It’s not that I expect the boy to take over, tell me where to hang a picture, or whatever. But you know what I mean. It just won’t only be about me anymore.
I’ll photograph my place pre invasion. Invasion is a dramatic word, and I don’t mean it. But once I wrote it, I couldn’t think of a better word. Is it possible to want to be invaded? If so, then that’s what I mean.
I’m not too worried, I’m sure I can point us in the “right” direction as to how we decorate & organize our space. I am encouraged by my boy’s desire for this, a classic, that I would be glad to own:
Eames. Classic. Good taste, Boyfriend. A+.
to be continued.
Love & Other Indoor Sports,
ValerieAnne
The Red Radish 