What’s the opposite of claustrophobia? Claustrophilia? Is that a thing? Because I’m pretty sure I have it. Whether it’s an elevator, a blanket fort, or my windowless office, I prefer being enclosed in a small indoor space. It’s cozy. Containment is cozy.
Alas for living in the age of wide open spaces. Open floor plans. Manifest destiny. The way I see it, the Tudors had it figured out. Look at how they slept:
Is anything more appealing than being swaddled in blankets, surrounded by curtains, and covered by a small roof that is in addition to the actual roof? Throw in a onesie and I believe the result is spelled h-e-a-v-e-n.
(Now that I think about it, perhaps I was swaddled as an infant and I’ve spent the last 30 years trying to recreate that sense of security. Huh.)
Should I ever get to Japan, rest assured I’ll be checking into a pod hotel. Though most of the press I read on these things has a negative slant, I see a picture like this:
…and wonder whether I could build one in my own home. Like, from two or three front-load washing machines welded together. (Note to self: Learn to weld.) I would probably put a Hello Kitty curtain, cut to size, in the front window because privacy is a large part of what I’m dubbing the Container Movement.
I notice that the pod hotel image is labeled “coffin hotel,” which is probably meant to disparage the concept. Instead, it makes me warm to the ideal of burial. O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?
(How hard is welding, on a scale of napping to brain surgery? Are we talking like a 6 or…?)