Snags in My Tiny House Obsession

You guys know I began building these tiny houses as something to do in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, something quiet not to wake Tracy, something that focuses and stills my mind and body, and something that’s not eating!

Sometimes, this hobby fulfills those needs. Sometimes, I get to thinking about the house I’m building so much that I really would rather be working on it than any other similar daytime activity (like reading or practicing Spanish for my class). That’s when I feel like it’s an unwise obsession.

Snag #1

Why unwise? Well, the kits cost money (although Tracy points out that there are many more-expensive hobbies I could have, and I offer up, “such as a heroin habit.”).

And, although they’re good for my brain in that I’m solving different kinds of puzzles while working on them (such as spatial and linguistic puzzles), I nevertheless feel like I could be doing something more productive, like researching hikes, or trips, or practicing driving the truck. Instead, I’m hunched over itty beads with tweezers and glue? Come on—admit that my feeling silly about this is understandable.

Plus, I’m running out of kits online that I’m interested in making. I know the types that I enjoy working on by now, and there aren’t many left, at least not available through Amazon. When I run out, I have no idea what I’ll turn to in the Deep Dark Night.

So I better slow down.

Snag #2

Right now I’m on an insomnia streak, and last night I tried to work on this new tiny house to settle before sleep and then once I woke up (only four hours later). I felt so bad that I disregarded Snag #1 and went full steam ahead with building.

Turns out an entire bag of parts is missing from the kit, and not only did I not discover this until partway through building (so I can’t return the kit), but I didn’t save the slip of paper with email address to ping to get replacement parts. Although something like half of the Amazon reviews of tiny house kits mention missing parts, I’ve never come across that problem. Until last night.

I did find a few substitutes in my stash of leftover parts from previous houses, but they’re not going to be enough. And when I messaged the manufacturer through Amazon to find out how to contact them to get replacements, their unhelpful answer was for me to email them. With what address, people?!?

So, I cooked and ate an entire box of cheap mac and cheese, finished my library book with not a single one in the queue, and began to fret in a serious manner about my tiny house obsession.

This sense of drama I’m feeling about the possible end to a era could be due in part to the holidays (I’ve always struggled to enjoy Christmas), and to other minor happenings, such as me breaking my late niece’s leather bracelet I’ve worn since I found it in my sister’s stuff when she died. Or it could be this chilly wind blowing sand across the desert so I don’t even want to go to yoga class. Whatever the reasons, I’ll get over them (or accept them, whatever).

But if you’re interested in the fate of my tiny houses, stay tuned.