What’s wrong with a tool shed?
Sometimes I want to live in a tool shed in someone’s back yard. A sturdy plastic one so I never have to do any work on it. All I want inside is a bed and a desk. Some place to sleep and some place to write. I know, not practical, but sometimes being a writer takes precedence in my mind over everything including bodily functions.
All right, I should probably add some sort of plumbing. And while I’m at it a fridge and microwave might be nice. I can watch TV and DVDs on my laptop so I have that covered. As long as the landlord has good wifi and doesn’t mind sharing. A couch might be nice. How quickly the trappings of “normal” life encumber existence.
I’ve considered other kinds of confined spaces. Like a monk’s cell, or a prison cell, or a shack in the woods. Those choices have too many rules or too many things that can eat you.
Maybe metal would be better than plastic. That would stand up to weather better. Maybe put the shed on wheels in case the landlord gets tired of me. Maybe even put a motor in it so it can move by itself.
So my simple little shed has now become a motorhome. Oh wait, I already have one of those. Never mind.