Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Living in a Tiny Space

     The boyfriend and I, along with 4 dogs, 2 turtles and various fish, live in a really tiny apartment of about 465 square feet. That includes closet space and toilet. The bedroom is really small, and just barely fits a double bed and a dresser. We can't afford to move because it's rent controlled, and going rates for apartments in San Francisco are outrageous. Things wouldn't be so bad, except the boyfriend is an accumulator, er, ahem... I mean collector. This creates problems.
     It would be OK if he only collected one thing, but he has many interests, and apparently all of them come complete with collectibles. He has a closet full of Disney figurines.  A whole wall of books just about Disney.  And comic books, of course. 
     He has a Master's degree in film history, so he has a huge collection of DVDs, mostly horror. Oh, there's also a ton of old TV shows, like Adam 12, Get Smart, I Love Lucy, Bewitched, Mr. Bean, Black Adder, Fawlty Towers: that's just a few.
     He's also a musician, so he has another wall full of CDs, and many, many, books about music. I'd say at least half of them are about the Beatles. He has about 14 guitars, and several amps, which are really big and take up a lot of room. He has no room for clothes in his closet (which is bigger than mine), so they tend to spread all around the house. 
Actual photographic evidence that I am not making this up.

The fact that he's a major slob doesn't help anything, either.
     He always seems to have multiples of everything. 14 guitars, 5 amps, 4 DVD players, etc. And nothing gets thrown out. Ever.  He still has a laserdisc player! In fact, I think he may have two. The garage is full of empty boxes from all the electronic equipment he's bought over the years. He says this is because:
  1. We may move, so he needs the boxes to pack the stuff up in (we've been living in this same apartment for 27 years), or
  2. He may want to sell it one day, and it's worth more with the box.
     One bad outcome of clutter and lack of space is that there really is no room to do anything. It's hard to move around without bumping into things. Sometimes I feel like one of those toys that you turn on and it rolls around until it bumps into something, then it reverses until it bumps into something else, until it's batteries run down. Or, in my case, until I either go mad or die of my bruises.
     We get into fights, the bf & I, like rats in an overcrowded cage. One HUGE bone of contention is his guitar practice. When he's practicing, neither the dogs nor I am allowed to move, breathe, or distract him in any way. He could go in the bedroom and shut the door, but he seems determined to practice in the living room.
     There are only two places to sit in the living room: the chair and the couch. I call the couch my “office”, because I keep all my everyday stuff near by. Laptop, knitting, checkbook, sketch book, and anything I happen to be reading at the time. OK, I admit it, I do spend most of my day on the couch. But that's because there really isn't any other place to be. I hate the bedroom. It's too small and claustrophobic, and my back hurts if I lie on the bed too much. Or is it “lay” on the couch? I'm never sure about that one. I just asked the bf, and he said,

     There's no room for a chair in there. So I camp out on the couch most of the day, writing my blog, surfing the net, and being a generally useful citizen, out of the way and bothering no one.

     For some odd reason I have never been able to fathom, he takes exception to this. He's jealous. He wants to sit on the couch. He wants to play his guitar on the couch. And he wants me to go away while he's doing it.   We had a big fight over it tonight. Well, he had a fight. I just sat there (on the couch). He was pissed at me because I sat on the couch while he was practicing.  I didn't speak to him or make eye contact.

I just sat in the corner and squished myself up real small.  

I wanted to use my laptop.  
He blew a fit.

Then he went in the bedroom and slammed the door. 

     Several times. 

     He yelled at the poor dog, who came running out like her ass was on fire. 

(She's so gassy it's a distinct possibility.)

I want one of these:

I think I'd have more room than I do now.

The End.


  1. Man! Those drawings are soooo goood!!! They are really accurate. I laughed so I got tears :-D

    Hey, the text was fun for me because it was like "being home"! Yep, I know the drill!

  2. Thanx, Anonymous! I work really hard on these---it's great to have positive feedback. And remember, it's all true!

  3. You're an artist in every sense, dear friend! I loved the blog (haven't we all been there?) and the pictures are amazing! The writing great! Keep it up, and don't forget to keep loving the bf.

  4. Loved this. I am signing him up for a new season of Hoarders.

    also, comments re BT's butts aflame is always a distinct possibility.