A Fair Amount of Crazy

And now we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming of The Deepest, Darkest Corners of Brenna’s Mind: Every Thought She Has As She’s Having It to bring you a tour of her little apartment. (Okay, full disclosure: I may relapse into introspection toward the end.)

Let me show you what I’ve done with the place! Or, more accurately, what it looked like before I covered everything in sand and Pop-tart wrappers. Moving afforded me the wonderful opportunity to get rid of a lot of shit. I thrift and sale and market and am charmed so easily by the previously-loved that I always end up walking away with a few tchotchkes, and my loft in Springfield was a fair amount of crazy. It’s nice to have a new space where I don’t have much that’s superfluous. Everything has a spot, and though that certainly doesn’t mean that’s where the thing ends up, I’ve yet to wonder, “Where the hell am I supposed to put this?,” which is a satisfying feeling.

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This is my front/entry/living/dining room; it is also my library and my office. I spend a lot of time in here, mostly sitting on the floor instead of the couch, with a pizza box and a movie on the TV. I’d like a coffee table, and maybe another chair in case Future Brenna, for some wild and unforeseeable reason, decides to have company, but I’m in no rush. Here are a few details that make me happy, because isn’t that what having your own space is all about, those little details that make it yours?




The experience of moving into this apartment is unique because I didn’t get to see it in person prior to making a commitment for at least a year. Before I moved to Marquette I’d never even been to lower Michigan, much less the Upper Peninsula, but, as I’m sure most of you can imagine, there was something thrilling about that aspect—an anticipation and hope beveled slightly by fear of the unknown and unfamiliar. But I took one step into this apartment and knew it was perfect for me; I feel really lucky to have found such a great fit.

Up next is the kitchen, and, if you know me at all, you know how important my kitchen is.

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I’m not leaving anything out here; it’s small. But there’s lots of light, a pantry, room for my coffee cart, a working stove, and enough counter space to roll out a pie crust, so I have no complaints. It’s just my size.

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I’m not going to show you the bathroom because, what’s another toilet to you? But above is the view I see every morning when I sit in the sink to do my make-up.

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The bedroom is just that—a bed. There’s a utilitarian nightstand, dresser, and butcher’s rack covered in sweaters, but mostly it’s just this haven of heather gray & white where I read and write and watch too much Netflix/Hulu/HBO. There’s a light right outside my window, which I appreciate because I’ve never much liked sleeping in total darkness. Something odd, though, is that the light serves as a kind of spider hub; their webs stretch across my window, and at night when they’re out spinning and feeding, the light catches every movement, every strand of silk.

Now, I’ve always been terrified of spiders, but there’s something about being able to watch them through the glass, snatching at moths flying too close to their sun, going about their simple, calculated business, from the comfort of my sacred little space—I just feel safe. And that safety allows me the ability to enjoy and exist alongside another little world I would have ordinarily already destroyed with a few sweeps of a broom. Last night, I stripped down and splayed out across my white comforter, watching and thinking and feeling a kinship to these things I used to be so unequivocally afraid of, and it made me feel a little more free.

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Something I did after all my boxes were unpacked was burn this smudge stick of white sage and mint. I cleared my head and took a deep breath, lit the end, and walked slowly through the apartment, letting the smoke waft into every corner, around the doorframes and under the furniture, wherever I saw a shadow or a gap. As I walked, I spoke what I wanted for the space and what I wanted for myself in it. It was cleansing and empowering, and it reminded me of the all-to-familiar Christian jargon that says we should speak our hopes and desires in the name of the Lord with a pure heart. And while, as I’ve said before, I no longer hold to those same beliefs, I can say that I spoke my desires with a pure and open heart full of hope, only now my faith isn’t in a god, it’s in myself.

Thanks for stopping by  ❤

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