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I didn’t go out today.
In the Before I would get itchy, tired, antsy if I didn’t escape my small city apartment, move my body, breathe fresh air. Now though, these four walls define the limits of my world and I exist only within their grasp.
The dining table has become my desk: laptop stand, keyboard, mouse. Yet I spend most of my working hours sitting on the couch, where the seat is more comfortable, less official, more taboo. If not now, when? In turn the sofa has become my dining area, the table being too crammed with office paraphernalia I refuse to remove ‘just in case’ the need for professional workspace strikes again.
The bedroom is his daytime domain, the small vanity dominated by a curved 34-inch monitor which was his iso-birthday present to himself. He emerges typically only for meals, joining me as we balance plates on our knees and try not to spill food on the rented couch. So far, no stains.
When the winter sun shines we sit on the small balcony, staring out at the Sydney skyline. The view was the selling point for our place, stretching all the way to Centrepoint Tower, now renamed and temporarily abandoned. One of the chairs out here is starting to fall apart and I am scared that it will collapse dramatically beneath me, but informing the landlord requires effort I don't have available.
The overhead light in the lounge room too bust months ago but we have just learned to adapt to the darkness. Adaptation is the theme of our lives now spent in this too-expensive, bathroom-through-the-bedroom, 25m-squared apartment which we chose for its proximity to the offices we no longer attend.
Maybe I will go for a walk.
In the Before I would get itchy, tired, antsy if I didn’t escape my small city apartment, move my body, breathe fresh air. Now though, these four walls define the limits of my world and I exist only within their grasp.
The dining table has become my desk: laptop stand, keyboard, mouse. Yet I spend most of my working hours sitting on the couch, where the seat is more comfortable, less official, more taboo. If not now, when? In turn the sofa has become my dining area, the table being too crammed with office paraphernalia I refuse to remove ‘just in case’ the need for professional workspace strikes again.
The bedroom is his daytime domain, the small vanity dominated by a curved 34-inch monitor which was his iso-birthday present to himself. He emerges typically only for meals, joining me as we balance plates on our knees and try not to spill food on the rented couch. So far, no stains.
When the winter sun shines we sit on the small balcony, staring out at the Sydney skyline. The view was the selling point for our place, stretching all the way to Centrepoint Tower, now renamed and temporarily abandoned. One of the chairs out here is starting to fall apart and I am scared that it will collapse dramatically beneath me, but informing the landlord requires effort I don't have available.
The overhead light in the lounge room too bust months ago but we have just learned to adapt to the darkness. Adaptation is the theme of our lives now spent in this too-expensive, bathroom-through-the-bedroom, 25m-squared apartment which we chose for its proximity to the offices we no longer attend.
Maybe I will go for a walk.