The analogy sadly works on several levels.
When just a few more frustrating, uncontrollable variables line up (selling the house in Georgia being the biggest), I win. I get a real life in a real home with my spouse, pets and possessions. Until then, life is just a series of confusing, ever-changing patterns.
And the hovel is literally not much bigger than a Rubik's cube. One square room with walls that draw closer to the center on a daily basis.
Charlie is staying here right now. As great as it is to have the visit, the space is not halved in the precense of another, it is fractionalized so tightly it could not be further divided with a razor.
Familiar routines and organization shatter under the weight of more stuff and another person. The addition of an inflatable bed leaves only a narrow walkway to the bathroom.
I discovered the morning he arrived that the bathroom door does not close. As the sole inhabitant ,the question was never considered. There was no reason to close off the tiny annex. Now the shower offers the most spacious corner of my universe.
Just a few miles away, a gorgeous loft apartment two or three stories high, waits our post-house sale occupancy. It has a doorman, a jacuzzi tub with a separate steam shower, granite countertops, wood floors, a laundry room larger than this entire apartment.
But just a few more things need to line up. As soon as one side it all worked out, you discover another mess of confusion when you turn it over.
DId I mention I never liked Rubik's Cubes? Or, actually, the 70s?
But I'm counting on someone to come up with a solution soon.


Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs