There are a lot of things that I’m not afraid of.
Spiders. Heights. Eating bologna off the floor. But recently, I discovered something that I am afraid of, turns out. Terrified of, in fact.
I am scared shitless of interior decorating.
Laugh if you like, but it’s true. To me, interior decorating is one of those magical skills–like underwater welding or speaking Mandarin–that I know is possible and some people can but I have no illusions of ever possessing. It’s like there’s a special gene that fabulous people possess that allows them to know exactly which couch goes with exactly what color walls that I just don’t have.
Which has always been okay. Being young and broke, it’s been totally acceptable for us to decorate in what could be called “Shabby Chic,” otherwise known as “Cheap and Free.” The only furniture in our apartment that was bought new is our bed (that Kyle bought with his ex,) an end table (bought from Ikea in college,) and my dresser (bought new in 1988.) For fuck’s sake, until recently our entertainment center was comprised of two speakers with a couple 2×4’s lying across them. But it’s been okay, because we live in a crappy apartment with white walls and nappy brown carpet. Besides, by having cheap and crappy furniture we could save our limited funds for more important needs. (Like beer.)
But we’re getting older now. After a couple years of constant moving and always looking forward to the next gig and the next city, we’ve found a city that we love and jobs that we love, and the desire to push forward has waned a bit. We’re starting to settle down, as weird as it feels to say. And we’re starting to think about considering maybe one day in the future starting to look for a house. Like a for real house. One with paintable walls and replaceable carpets. And maybe, just maybe, some grown up furniture to go with it.
Which brings us back to interior decorating. The thought of that blank canvas of a house, the endless possibilities of style and taste and color and texture stretching before me, scares the crap about me. I can look at an item, say, a decorative pillow or a colorful lamp, and say either, “Yes, that’s lovely, I like that,” or, “No, that looks like someone vomited Skittles on a turd, I hate that.” But figuring out how to put all those pieces together into one stylish, functional, and comfortable room? I would rather try to brush my cats’ teeth than try to put all that together. I don’t have a vision, I don’t anything I’m “going for,” and I ain’t “feeling” shit. The canvas is just too blank, the possibilities too endless. It makes me panicky just thinking about it.
But we’re taking baby steps. Very teeny, tiny, wobbly baby steps. We’re starting with our lamp.
We like it and we feel it is fairly representative of our style: sleek, simple and modern. And we know that the first piece of grown up furniture we’re going to get is a new couch. So we figure maybe we try to make sure that our new couch “goes” with our lamp? And maybe there will be an end table after that? And piece by piece, we’ll put our house together, and as long as the last thing we bought “goes” with the one before it…it’ll be designy, right?
(Please hold me.)