Studio+ Two-Office Apartment
The global pandemic has changed everyone’s lives. For my husband and I, that change wasn’t clear at first. We have been doing a co-work-from-home since early 2019. He has always had the flexibility to work from home when he wanted to, and I had just left my office job to pursue a freelance editing career. Now in 2020, and with about three months of self-isolation under our belts, we are fortunate enough to still have a full-time income, a place to call home, and ample video party opportunities. The day-to-day since stay-at-home orders has made little difference; we work during the weekdays, cook meals and play games in the evenings, and run essential errands on the weekends. I absolutely miss my friends and family, and I miss the long bus rides, listening to music and journaling for a day out in the city. But with a sense of community responsibility, I know I can do without those pleasantries for now.
For me, the impact of COVID-19 has leered over my shoulder, silently breathing down my neck, for about a month.
For me, the impact of COVID-19 has leered over my shoulder, silently breathing down my neck, for about a month. But I just couldn’t put words to it. The exhausting drain on my mind. The days of complete blah. The feeling of no escape. And then yesterday, as husband and I hummed and hawed over sweating glasses of whiskey, ice and bitters, and I was giving in to the feeling that I was just about ready to give up on the day: A Truth Was Born. I needed space. I needed to be away from him. But not from him. Just the presence of another human being. And yet still in my space.
My husband is extroverted. Put him around other human beings for even an hour and his energy levels are through the roof. Like bouncing around the room and never-ending conversation. And yet, my husband is an artist, and if he gets interrupted it can be detrimental to his creative process. As for me, while I’m not the kind of introvert that needs a people bubble, I do burn out after long term people-ing. I lose all sense of self, any glimmer of joy, and am best left silent and completely alone once I’ve reached my limit. Despite this, I wake up early, attack the day and get about a million things done before noon; rife with questions and spur of the moment planning sessions--which require me interrupting my husband who patiently acquiesces to my whims.
How to survive the next two phases of self-isolation? We needed to rethink the functionality of our apartment. I mean, we are stuck in it’s white-walled, brown-carpeted presence for at least another two months, even as restrictions begin to lighten up. We live in a two-bedroom, two bathroom apartment. It has a medium sized kitchen, space for a dining table, and a living room with high ceilings. A deck, fireplace, and a couple of standard sized closets. Complete with two feline fur-babies.
But why did it have to be two bedrooms? My husband and I co-sleep, and we won’t be entertaining anytime soon. Do we really need a living room?
Do we really need a living room?
Why not turn our apartment into a space that makes the most sense for what we actually need? To hell with what the rental papers say. What we need is a studio apartment and two office spaces. We need to be able to cook meals and sleep, but we also need a space where we can get away from each other, close the door, and respect one another’s work and creative endeavors.
With the energy imbued from an idea born of necessity--and the enthusiasm of a second round of cocktails-- we converted our home. I now have my reading chair and ottoman (that the cats have claimed), my desk for editing and writing, the tv for show binging, and space for working-out and yoga practice. Husband has a couch to stretch out on, his desk that he can fill with as many monitors as he would like, and the freedom to close his door so that a certain well-meaning wife cannot interrupt unexpectedly.
And on our first evening together, after an entire, glorious day apart, we had a lovely dinner. We actually missed each other. It was beautiful.
We actually missed each other.
The global pandemic has changed everyone’s lives. What we think that means is that we cannot go to a bar, or we cannot make meandering trips into the city. While these adjustments to our life patterns are true, it also means that we are now tasked with the responsibility of reinventing how we approach everything. The world is a new place, but that doesn’t have to be a restrictive concept. We need to stand on a hypothetical table--Oh Captain, My Captain!--and let out a guttural “yawlp” against the grain of past constructs.
We have been given a blank slate. I’ll take my studio+two office-space apartment, thank you very much.
