I've been thinking a lot about Fight Club recently. Ever since my trip to the giant behemoth of swedish interiors, I've been thinking about it. Little neat rows of picture frames of various sizes. Built in bookshelves painted bright blue and white. Having a roommate that nags you about buying things doesn't necessarily help. But really, all I started with was a hand-me-down bed and a chair my mother and grandfather built me. The first things I put in my new room were pictures on nails already in the walls.

But sometimes, in between browsing craigslist for cheap deals on gently used furniture and thinking about ikea hacks, I wonder if my ikea catalogue is going to drift into the bathroom and we're going to pan around the apartment. Two 4x4 Expedit bookshelves converted into wine storage, $39.99 each. Etc, etc. So that when I walk home and crash through the door, I will think to myself: "At least I have that couch. If anything happens then at least I have it."

When I was in college, the meaning of life was to graduate with a degree in something (anything, my mother told me) and find a job where I would work from eight to five every day, come home to my dog/cat/computer and make some delicious dinner while hiding myself behind the thick door of my apartment occasionally venturing out for food (groceries, beer, the unfrequent takeout). At least if anything happened, I'd have that degree and some job experience.

It's nice to have goals, but I think after a while, a goal of decorating your apartment gets superficial. There's only so much space that things can fill in a non-physical way. Some people try to fill that space with something spiritual, some people fill it with a dog or a cat. But really, I think it's more about filling that space with meaningful people and creating something ingenious. Without people to share your joys, life is much less... alive.