Last night, the loft bed came down. I'm not trying to bag on anybody who has a loft bed (or am I?), as sometimes it's a necessary component to living in a walk-in-closet that NYC tries to pass off as a bedroom. My issue was simply that the last time I had a "loft" bed was when I was six-years-old, and it had a fort (WITH DOUBLE DOORS!) down below where I used to watch countless hours of Bobby's World and Shining Time Station before headin' off to day camp. So, let's be real, everytime I climbed into it, I felt like I was that six-year-old girl again, and I'm not...though, I do wish Bobby's World was still a relevant past time. Anyway, I bought a bed frame, and I currently reside very near to the ground...it's possibly a metaphor for how I've recently been trying to live my life.
(I don't remember where this picture is from, but I do want my room to give off an air like this.)
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