the heaviness of things

I have invested in some furniture. actual furniture this time--not just free random handmedown throwaway furniture that I'll never really care about or plan on keeping.

this--some of this furniture I am collecting--is furniture that I like. I already feel annoyingly attached to it.

and this seems like a big deal. not being able to fit all my important possessions in my own little car seems like an awfully large step. an irrevocable advancement beyond all the lifestyles I've been cocooned in so far. perhaps it's only fitting. a PhD is probably a much more humongous undertaking than owning furniture. yet why should either be dreaded? I am excited about all my courses and teaching and upcoming adventures in academia. so I can of course handle this furniture-collection process too, can't I?

my tiny apartment does not have room for much furniture. (don't ask me the square footage of this studio; I can't remember. it's something like 1/12 of an old nineteenth-century mansion, whatever that adds up to.) but despite the lack of space, leaving the place furniture-less would probably be less than useful. sleeping on the floor was kind of fun for a few days... but after those few days, it started to seem excessively childish and hobo of me.

so I surfed craigslist for a day or two and luckily (providentially, fortunately, blessedly, opportunely, propitiously, or whichever serendipitous adverb you like best) came across this little sofa-bed. it was made decades ago, and having such an authentically vintage piece in my apartment surely gives me bonus hipster points.

it's pretty comfy. I've put grey-and-white-striped sheets on its insides, with a nice blue comforter. I probably get hipster points for cramming all those patterns together, too. right?