Prowler

And I did, I made it my home, this orange and brown '81 Prowler. It takes me seven step to walk the length of the floor. The fridge doesn't work and there's not nearly enough space, but I worked my magic and it's an ayla space now where a week ago it felt like someone else's garbage. I know I'm good at this. And I also know that I take a while to process things but given half the chance, I put roots down so quickly and claim as my home anywhere I cook and lay my head for more than a few days that I am already feeling possessive and attached towards this trailer. I know it's ridiculous. I know these things but I still had to go through the familiar steps of protesting and being in denial and being overwhelmed and frustrated and negative before finding some grit and thriving.
It's cute in here. I wouldn't mind some more shelves and cupboards as right now I've got piles of books supporting houseplants and milk crates as clothing and food shelves and our fridge is a cooler on the bench, one of three places to sit down here. Pots of scarlet pole beans hide the leaky outdoor walls and I've placed woolen blankets over the hideous brown nylon cushions.
Home sweet home.