The Realities of Living Tiny

It’s the end of the year, which is when we get all these listicles and video montages of “the year’s most memorable moments”. side note: yes, 2016 was memorable. It was the dumpster fire that wouldn’t quit burning. But that’s another post for another day. I’ve been reflecting a lot on the year. I’ve also been reflecting on the last few years. In spite of the fact that 2016 has been a never-ending dumpster fire, it has been a rewarding (and often frustrating) journey for us. There’s too much to say in just one post, so I’m going to have to break it down over several. Today, I’ll talk about the frustrating and often comical realities of living tiny.

Living tiny isn’t for everybody, and it definitely isn’t for the faint of heart.

We’ve had six and a half years of living in an RV. Granted, it’s a pretty well appointed RV, and RVs in general are well thought out. Most everything serves at least two purposes. The couches have seat belts built into them, they fold out into beds, and they have storage space underneath them. The dining banquettes have seat belts and built in storage. The bed has major storage underneath it.

In spite of all of this multifunctionality built into RVs, they’re just not fucking practical for full-time living. There are oodles of storage compartments, but most of them aren’t useful because of location and/or size. Like the little cabinets hanging from the ceiling all over the place. Not only are they often hard to access, the openings are so fucking tiny that not much fits into them.

Now that I think about these stupid tiny little cabinets, I think they’re probably practical for holding stuff like DVDs and video games, neither of which we need storage space for. If you look at the two longer ones, think about trying to fit clothes into them. Because half of my clothing storage is two of those ridiculously tiny stupid fucking cabinets.

The dining table and banquette seating had to fucking go, because the table and seats didn’t move relative to each other, and it was too tight for me to be comfortable so forget fitting Sunshine’s big muscular self into it. While we’re on the subject of dining, let’s talk about the kitchen. My entire kitchen is smaller than most people’s kitchen islands. There’s not much one can do in this kitchen, except maybe heat up a can of franks and beans. The original fridge that came with this RV was the same size as the current fridge (well, on the outside, anyway). However, the inside was tiny tiny tiny AND the bastard had to be defrosted on the regular because it was the kind of fridge that can run on propane which means that it can’t be a frost-free fridge. The inside was so tiny that I could fit a pint of half and half, three oranges, and a stick of butter in it without having to play tetris. The freezer portion of it was even worse: it could fit two of those dollhouse sized ice cube trays, a package of breakfast sausage, and one popsicle.

The bedroom is almost non-functional. I gave up on a neatly made and nicely presented bed about three days after we moved into this magic bus. It’s so hard to make up the fucking bed when there are cabinets over the pillows, immovable nightstands an inch and a half from the sides of the mattress, and closets a few inches over the nightstands.

bedroom

We’re not going to talk about the fucking bathroom. There is no room for a person’s knees whilst sitting on the toilet. We replaced the original toilet that was just tall enough for a child to sit comfortably on, and we also replaced the original vanity cabinet with a smaller one. These changes still didn’t make it comfortable for an adult to sit on the toilet. I’d include a picture of how small the shower is, but it’s too small to actually take a picture whilst inside.

the-view-from-the-toilet

In short, living in an RV is a constant game of Tetris. And it’s a game that Sunshine and I are tired of playing.

final note: none of these nice finishes (granite counters, slate floors, murano glass moasic tiles, deep purple walls) were in this RV when we got it. It all looked like a bad 80s matchy-matchy seafoam green and dusty rose nightmare and it was so ugly that it made me retch. Also? Who decided 80s leftovers were a good choice for decorating a 1999 model RV?

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