Measuring Volume through Displacement

Well, I’m a New Yorker now, or at least for the summer. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t become mean, start smoking, or learn to dress all snazzy. However, I will learn to live in cramped spaces and pay way too much money to do so. I’ve moved into the tiniest space I’ve ever lived in, and oddly I’m wanting to cut the room in half again. No, I haven’t lost my marbles, I just don’t want to use a loft bed. To make the room more spacious, the super’ has added a loft bed so that there’s room for a desk and dresser underneath, as well as a bit of space for pacing around or something. Yes, it opens up the room, but I can’t stand loft beds. I’d rather create a narrow maze on the ground with my meager furniture than climb up a damn ladder to get to my bed every night. The initial climb is not that big of a deal. It’s just the “packing up” to go to sleep that gets to me. You have to brush your teeth, go to the bathroom, get your book, set your alarm clock, and grab your cell phone, water bottle, and all your other bedside accoutrements before hauling your tired carcass up the steep, wobbly ladder. If you forget something or decide you need to go to the bathroom again, you have to balance your groggy self on tiny slats while gingerly feeling your way down backwards. What a pain! And then, as I’m awkwardly making my way down, I’m thinking, if I fall and die or paralyze myself, I will forever be known as a clumsy person. “Hey lady, how did you get in that wheelchair?” “I fell out of bed.” Okay, I’ve only slept one night in a loft bed now, but I think I’d like to avoid ever doing it again.

For the curious, tiny pictures of my tiny room: