Lofty, Schmofty.
Hey, Monday morning! Bliss! Work!
Following tradition, well, new tradition at least, I will provide a brief and uninspiring window (intrusion) into my exploits. Sorry, quality is extra.
I have been packing for a move. I will be leaving the vast confines of my cavernous loft for the comfort of an apartment with amenities such as ‘rooms’. Loft living for some is bliss, for me, less so. Not a day went by where the rafters did not beckon my neck, so profound was the isolation. I’d relish the sound of retiree hacking phlegm at one in the morning as the signs of life in my concrete prison were nil.
Yes, it was pretty enough, a spacious area with a nice island on which to cook (which I didn’t) and a large veranda/deck on which to entertain (which I don’t), all stucco and brick and pretentiously placed railroad ties and ‘charming’ little windows which I could never cover due to their ‘eccentricity’.
But, not for me. The isolation is such that I crawl out from said rock every morning and slink home late every night, just to crawl into bed and close my eyes at the vastness. The place needs a couple or some such, and it rues my presence, quite nearly mocking me in its echoing vastness, making my furniture look insignificant, and my attempts at cozy-ing it up nearly futile (sigh, those red shower curtains, they looked fine at Home Depot)…
So, I will take flight to the comfort of rooms and neighbors who do not roll their eyes at my cloying attempt at cajoling them into tea, and instead sleep each night in the comfort of an abode which abides by my particular mental and social requirements.
Oh, I realized all too late I need to purchase another six-pack of underpants. Why always late Sunday do I realize this?
Following tradition, well, new tradition at least, I will provide a brief and uninspiring window (intrusion) into my exploits. Sorry, quality is extra.
I have been packing for a move. I will be leaving the vast confines of my cavernous loft for the comfort of an apartment with amenities such as ‘rooms’. Loft living for some is bliss, for me, less so. Not a day went by where the rafters did not beckon my neck, so profound was the isolation. I’d relish the sound of retiree hacking phlegm at one in the morning as the signs of life in my concrete prison were nil.
Yes, it was pretty enough, a spacious area with a nice island on which to cook (which I didn’t) and a large veranda/deck on which to entertain (which I don’t), all stucco and brick and pretentiously placed railroad ties and ‘charming’ little windows which I could never cover due to their ‘eccentricity’.
But, not for me. The isolation is such that I crawl out from said rock every morning and slink home late every night, just to crawl into bed and close my eyes at the vastness. The place needs a couple or some such, and it rues my presence, quite nearly mocking me in its echoing vastness, making my furniture look insignificant, and my attempts at cozy-ing it up nearly futile (sigh, those red shower curtains, they looked fine at Home Depot)…
So, I will take flight to the comfort of rooms and neighbors who do not roll their eyes at my cloying attempt at cajoling them into tea, and instead sleep each night in the comfort of an abode which abides by my particular mental and social requirements.
Oh, I realized all too late I need to purchase another six-pack of underpants. Why always late Sunday do I realize this?
posted by Blog Monkey at 10:27 a.m.
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