The Trailer

So. There it is, my trailer (that is not mine, didn't buy it, title's not in my name, permitted to clean it but forbidden to modify it from its 1971 splendor- and by modify I mean a coat of interior paint, not a hot tub, permitted to sleep in it when I must but not to keep it off limits to the family* when I am in Santa Cruz). All right, not my trailer. The trailer. The trailer that could be easily 6 times better if I were given reign to decorate it. I am really good with colors.


Well, it's a nice neighborhood. There's Jori and Betsy's veggie oil bus. Not pictured because I couldn't manage a good one is Nini and Carl's VW bus, which they sleep in to camp sometimes. Yeah, there are beds to sleep... um... 7 on our driveway. If you count the loft in my trailer, which I don't because it dared to creak, like I was killing it, when I climbed in! I know, it is 38. The screws on the steel tracks are rusty. The wood is old. Still, when you go through life in whatever percentile means 75% of adults are larger than you, it doesn't cross your mind that a piece of furniture is going to give out on you. Then, yesterday, I was walking on the floor of my house in santa cruz and I noticed a part of the floor was dipping when I stepped on it. I am choosing to believe that this is because we are walking really close to the wall to get around the folding dog gate on a part of the floor not designed for weight, and Occam's razor can go to hell.
Yes, I am as long as the trailer is wide. The first thing I thought when I got in the trailer for the first time was "thank goodness I'm small." Because a full size adult, would probably not be able to deal with the size. Although, Jori is full sized and I suppose he doesn't mind the bus. Hm. My second thought, obviously, was "Augh I am breaking the trailer noooo!". Only then (I am falsifying this timeline entirely, for simplicity) did I freak out about the interior. It is brown. Brown, and green, and covered in woodtone veneer, and ugh. It is so bad. It is a little cool because it is all old timey things, like a museum Liz thinks, but I do not want to live in a museum. Unless it is an art deco museum, or a steampunk museum, or a space museum.
I dunno, I can take some pretty good photos I think. That looks so homey, doesn't it? With the roses? Noooo it is an illluuuussion, it looks really dark. I had to take down all the curtains to make it nice. I have been hunting online for all sorts of small space living tips (I adore small space living, but in my imagination I am allowed to use PAINT, also it is not on the driveway, it is off in the nature.) and one of the ones that crops up over and over is to use neutrals, and pale colors to make the space airier and look larger.



Here I am enjoying the trailer. I know this is a pretty whiny post. Some people haven't any trailers to live in, you know. But it is terribly frustrating to be parented so aggressively. My parents must trust me, I am quite trustworthy, but they have not had an adult child before and they don't know what to do. Hint: I have this under control. Today I told my roommate I was going to the library because my computer doesn't open pdfs and he was like "wait, why?" and I said it is because I don't have administrator priviledges and he laughed and asked if it was my computer. I was like, well, it is mine to use while I am in school but my mom bought it. I need everyone to back off if I am going to live at home without moving out to live under a bridge.

I was talking to Dad about how yeah, the trailer needs to be painted. And he said no, and he knows I want to do it but that I will not because I'm not a disobedient child. And I said I'm not a child at all. And he said I am his child just like he is Nana's child. But that he is a disobedient child. And he knows I'm not.
HOW ABOUT THIS: DAD, WHAT IF YOU MOVED IN WITH NANA FOR 3 MONTHS? HOW WOULD YOU WANT HER TO TREAT YOU? I think having had stable parents you can't really know how I feel here.

*When I didn't live in a trailer they were perfectly content not to play in a trailer. When I sleep indoors they are perfectly willing to talk to me to wake me up, but no, now there is something to bang on! Something shaky!