When I read this xkcd, it was like a lightning bolt to the face.
Because we’re grownups now, and it’s our turn to decide what that means.
You know, I did, once, try to live in an apartment with a whole-kitchen ballpit. As in, I filled out the roommate application while sitting in the ballpit, right next to the refridgerator. I didn’t get it, but that’s ok. Ballpits are great. Ballpits are playground, silliness, inconvenience-as-art (my philosophical favorite). But they’re also plastic. And you know, I’m just not that into plastic. Give me plants. Give me life. That’s what I need.
As my own self, as a grownup, I want to live in a world completely covered in nature. I want my kitchen to be an apothecary witch’s potion shop. I want my yard to be a tropical forest of green, year-round. I want my living room to be a warm, soft, rough-hewn den of furs and wood. Give me a girlcave. Give me a nest. I want to sleep in a greenhouse, and tiptoe on moss to go to the bathroom. I want to walk outside and eat the yard. I want to watch the sun set from giant windows, turning everything pink and orange.
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