I now have a tiny little studio apartment which I’m obsessed with. It doesn’t have an oven, or a bathtub, but it has a door that only I (and my landlady) have a key to, lot of light and high ceilings, and most importantly – no housemates.
I’m sure there will be a time in the not so distant future that I’ll need to share again, and that’s fine, but right now it seems increasingly important to have my own space. This also means I have fewer distractions from my writing. In line with this, to the horror of some of my friends, I’ve taken my diminutive television set from its lofty, white wooden perch, and slid it underneath my bed.
I’ve been spending all my weeknights either driving around in my car, smoking and howling along to music, or crashed in front of the little colourful screen. I’ve been spending weekends visiting family at home, or slobbed out in clothes from the day before watching re-runs of – insert tedious sitcom drivel here. I was moving some furniture around, as I often like to do when I’m trying to shake things up somewhat, and all the channels vanished off the screen – I knocked the antennae and there was just no going back from there; and strangely I didn’t mind. The next day I woke up at 9am and put on a cute midi skirt and pumps and tripped down to the cathedral to read books and drink hot chocolate as the city woke up. Surreal, if you know me.
I picked up a battered computer from the next city over – I’m typing from it as we speak. It has no sound, and likes to lose internet connection when it damn well feels like it, but it means I finally have something to work from, somewhere to merge all the notes and edits and additions I’ve been making to my novel in various notebooks and scraps of lined paper. It also has been very helpful in pushing me to start my applications for the MFA to attend in Fall 2017. I’m being realistic, almost pessimistic for this round, but I feel as if I’ve almost screwed my head back on straight for the first time in months.
No television in a tiny apartment sounds pretty desolate to the inward-looking eye, but I’m not interested in contesting that. No, you’ll find me at my perfect desk, with my not so perfect computer typing away. Or you won’t find me at all, because I’ll be out someplace, away from the wires, whipping up something the old fashioned way.