Occasionally I start to put together a list of things I want to find in my next place of residence.
I don't mean restaurants or school districts. I don't even really care if there are decent gyms or a Whole Foods in the region. (Update: Whole Foods is coming to Portland in February. Yay! Only 32 months after I came here.)
No, I'm not looking at the big picture so much; I'm talking about my individual site of habitation, often known to others as a "home."
Unfortunately, I fear that the requirements vastly outpace my own purchasing power. For example, items that routinely show up in my daydreams include the following:
My dream kitchen, complete with stainless-steel appliances, a silent yet capacious dishwasher, impeccable lighting (hey, I am a theatre geek at heart) and wine refrigerator;
My own washer and dryer, preferably Energy Star-rated but still capable of doing a massive load of color all in one go;
OK. I kind of don't so much care about the Roomba, but I had to throw something remotely afforable in there, so as not to seem entirely out of touch with reality.
Sigh. I think it's abundantly clear that I both want and do not want to be a real adult. A Roomba? Seriously.
But I would give my left pinky finger for a washer-dryer. There are some things on which one just cannot compromise.