When we began our apartment hunt we were optimistic and started out with our one bedroom wish list. After our first round of viewings, we quickly began scratching amenities off the list and faced the fact that we’d be living together for the first time in a studio apartment.
Moving into a room doesn’t leave a lot of room for improvement. I quieted my inner interior designer and gave in to a full dorm room motif complete with bulletin boards, pop up laundry bins, containers and posters sans frames. I even let him put stickers everywhere. He loves stickers. But this small space does make you appreciate the small things. Hooks are a lifesaver and serve as landing strips for all things, you’re completely surrounded by your surround sound no matter where you go and it’s real cheap to heat a shoebox. And you take pride in your organizational achievements like finding somewhere to put the paper towel supply or hiding all the wires.
After you figure out where to put everything, you are left with the reality of sharing this small space. Living in close quarters with someone is just going to get real, real quick. I gave up appearing that I am naturally beautiful right from the start. No point painting a fantasy. My inches of vanity area I use are less than accommodating. There’s a patch of wood in front of my mirror that I am certain I will be falling through this month and this limits the time I spend assessing my appearance. Having clean hair and clothes are also not something I spend a great deal of time on, because doing laundry is strenuous and our shower feels contagious. Although, I may be pushing it when he tells me, “I love you but you’re kind of grossing me out” or “You smell like a penny.” I blame the apartment. If you are what you eat, then maybe I am where I live.
The challenges of constantly being within arm distance from someone are obvious. There is no privacy, no removing yourself from a situation or the “I’m so frustrated” door slam. In the event of a storm there is no safe harbor and sleeping on the couch doesn’t count for much since the futon is jammed up against the bed. I’ve learned that being irritable will only drive you nuts and you have to be able to tune out the repetitive tapping or clicking of a mouse and if you can’t, you have to have a Wi-Fi accessible escape nearby.
You do fall into a routine and if you’re really compatible you will find a way for cohabitation to exist without bumping heads too much. He cooks me omelets, and I clean the yolk off the window sill. I fill up the cup of Q-tips, and he empties the trash full of them. He cleans the mold out of the shower, and I protect our toothbrushes from bleach exposure. I 409 cockroaches to death, and he cleans up the corpse. He’s trying to put down the toilet seat, and I’m trying to not shed as much. Just like everything in life, you learn to live through it.
Either way, these are undoubtedly the times we will remember the most. But I can’t wait to add a room to our relationship someday. While our coffee table with the legs duct tapped on doesn’t support the weight of our feet, I think that if we survive this studio challenge our relationship will stand up to the weight of almost anything.