April 16. What three features would be non-negotiable in your dream house?
This cuts right to so many things i have pondered. As regular readers know, i have more money than i know what to do with right now. I suspect once my mother's inheritance eventually trickles down, plus the last year of spending literally zero of my income, for the first time in my life i will have six figures of "real" money (dollars/euros) in my bank account. The hilarious and sad thing is that in most cities of the world (including China) that will only net you a downpayment on a house, not even an actual house.
Good thing i don't want a house.
I have had a lot of stuff to fill up a house before. Australia, in particular, was a country where i amassed a bunch of stuff, manically trying to build a "home", trying to do what other people did, trying to do what my partners expected of me. But as hard as i tried, i could never really feel it. Everything i bought made me feel heavier, trapped.
I sold or gave away most of my stuff before i moved to Canada. The first couple years there i was very poor, basement apartment, freelance gigs, the works. By the time of Occupy Wall St i was in a full-time job and back in the green, buying shit like nightstands and televisions because my (then) wife wanted a normal life. She also wanted kids and a sober lifestyle, and i had become a meth addict so yeah no.
After splitting up and burning out, i skipped the country. It was 2013.
Since then i haven't owned much more than could fit in a backpack.
What would i like beyond the computer and clothes in my pack? A pan so i can cook. A bowl, a cup, a spoon, some chopsticks. A stove, a fridge and - in countries that do not have laundromats - a washing machine. A bed would be nice, but in Germany i didn't have one, i mostly just slept on the floor. Shower. That's about it.
But the house isn't just about what's in it. It's about what's out it too. As much as i hated lockdown in this studio apartment, fuck if i would ever want to maintain a garden. I have only ever lived by choice in one house with a garden, and in that place our neighbors called the cops on us because the grass was tit-height and they were worried we had snakes. Drug addiction is brilliant, y'all.
I like parks. I like wilderness. I do not like private gardens. I do not like detached houses. I find them antisocial. Balconies and patios are acceptable. Apartments are the best. Although they must have windows that open because air conditioning is the worst.
I do not want a condo. I do not want a gated community. I hate gated communities with every fiber of my being. If outside people can't walk into the building, what kind of society are we living in? Hallways should be public, places where hobos can sleep on a cold night. I buzz everyone in, i don't care who it is.
Publicly inaccessible common areas are bullshit.
Privacy matters. But that's all that matters.
My dream house isn't a house. It's a private space with a wok and a toilet and a door that opens into the great wide open.
The kicker is i don't want to own it. I want to be able to leave. A 12 month lease is a prison sentence.
The three things non-negotiable in my dream house, assuming kitchen and bathroom comes for free: month-to-month rent, publicly accessible common areas, windows that open.
Can i take a fourth? Fore! Walking distance to a 24 hour liquor store.
Yo. I think my ideal home is a motel.
Welcome to my drunk self, y'all. It's my first week of reduced hours. Tomorrow is the weekend. I am feeling dandy.