Not an antique piece of something. Not a flat screen tv. A three-tier carpeted tower.
I recently moved into a studio condo. Bet you didn’t know they made those. I didn’t. And I don’t even own it, I rent. For a lot. I’m in my 30’s and single. Two cats. Cat tree. You can either be envious of your friends and their houses with fancy multiple rooms or you can suck it up, appreciate the studio (“I don’t have to clean much”) and carry on.
This is not to say I haven’t dropped to the carpet suddenly, without warning, and burst into tears. Relationship. Work. Living space. All changed within months. I’d be worried about someone who didn’t occasionally inhale berber between sobs.
It took a little bit to get use to sleeping in the same room as the refrigerator (yes, as I had to explain to my mom, a studio really means no bedroom). You forget how loud an ice maker can be. At 4 in the morning.
You also realize that cats are nocturnal and crazy and play. At 4 in the morning. Some nights they sleep thru like a baby after a warm bath, and sometimes they’re the colicky infant that just wont sleep. One night, or morning, I found myself at 3am with a sparkly feather toy sitting on the edge of my bed, getting the kitties to jump and play so they would quit wrestling with each other. When you have a living space with multiple rooms, you can go to bed and shut the door, leaving the kitties to act crazy in the other rooms of the house.
With a studio its you , the cats, refrigerator and all the other appliances jointly sharing the space. I can sit up in the middle of the night and see if I left the oven on without leaving my bed.
