Two Houses. Two sides.

There's an apartment in the city, a 5th floor walk up somewhere between 3rd avenue and the park. Inside the door is a place for galoshes, umbrellas, coats and a bowl for keys. A leash is abandoned on the floor and the large mirror hints at your possible need for a comb. Looking forward, you can see right through to the patio. Beyond the rails, the city sounds whisper "Come back! We're not done yet!" but you know better. The kitchen, dining room and living room are just one big room. The two largest items in the room are a huge oak table with scratches from budding scrabble masters and a couch that swears its a bed after midnight.

You never worry about missing anything in this room. You can cook, write, draw and catch the morning news without missing a step. A couple of cats play at your feet, and a lazy dog is sometimes mistaken for a new golden rug strategically placed at your feet. Books act as the main decor, with drawings, sketches, canvases blurting their purpose along the routes of roads less traveled. The tv remote is velcroed to the wall with a post it note: If remote is gone, read a book.
The only other room in the apartment is the bedroom. A huge bed stands in the middle of the room. Books stack up around the corners, as if picked up and begun and then added to the stack as you nodded off to sleep. A cat lies curled up on the pillows. The bathroom is large- but the mirrors are hard to see into. Written across are words, thoughts, notes of love etched into the glass with care. Somewhere, a radio is playing, a cat is meowing and you can hear the plants growing on the window sill. Its easy to be productive here.

There's a house in the woods, wrap-around porch and swing. Here the screen door always slams, but no one really cares. The driveway is unremarkable, but someone's put a sign on the far left side that reads: Uhaul parking: $50. Inside, the fireplace doubles as a stage for brother and sister traveling circus/magic/vaudeville acts. A deer head hangs on the wall, decorated appropriately to match the current mood of the house, complete with thought bubble to express social comments. When you walk in, your things drop from your arms and tomorrow you will find them just as you left them at the door.

Step lightly over the sleeping dog, and head into the kitchen. The windows are open and every inch of the counter is covered in half decorated cupcakes. The microwave is not in use, in fact, if you open the door, you will see its not a microwave at all, but a shelf holding bread and the occasional bagel. A sign hangs on the wall- "If the doorbell rings or the fire alarm goes off: DINNER'S READY". A door leads out to the back a garden of tomatoes, carrots and basil off the side of the house. Another door leads to a living room with photos of friends, family and pets lining most every available space. There are two tvs- each on different football games because sometimes you can't compromise.

The most remarkable room in this house is the room at the farthest end of the house. A sign warns you upon entering that its loud inside. Here, the walls are covered in thoughts, lost ideas, dreams and promises. The imagination never tires of the games and never hesitates for lack of supplies. Dreams are realized, memories scrapped and futures built. The word no is banned and the words Of course written across the wall. Its hard to take yourself seriously in here, but it could be the carnival mirrors laughing at your changing reflection. One chair sits in the corner, worn at the corners from lazy days reading. This is a house where its hard to take yourself seriously.

Which house is yours?