Another place

12/9/12

Another place:

A personalized room is still a prison. No matter what you put in it. If you spend enough time in a room you get itchy, and want to bolt. By bolting I mean packing up all my stuff and getting in a car, driving far, far away from here. I tried to make this room comfortable- a poster of Monet’s Water Lilies, Christmas lights, a full sized bed. After a time I reached my limit on things to add to this room. I want to leave this place, not put more stuff in it.

I’d rather be in a room with a slanted ceiling covered in texture and glitter, a room with candles flickering and Norah Jones playing. In the comfort of my lover’s arms, reflected in his eyes. A cozy room in a cozy house. The time I spend there is precious. By the fire, watching movies, with the warmth of his arms around me. Swaying to music, in our heads or playing through speakers. Playing house, as my mom would call it- doing dishes and laundry, cooking. Imagining what it would be like to have a place of our own.

If not there then in another room, with three purple walls and a blue one, peach colored sheets on the bed with roses on them from my childhood. A chair filled with stuffed animals, a nice closet, and high ceilings. Even waking up alone there is okay, because the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. The days I wake up with a knock on the door are particularly nice, since my mom is there to bring me tea, and tell me how glad she is that I am home.

I even miss the days of waking up to The Clash’s The Magnificent Seven, with the words “Ring! Ring! It’s 7:00 A.M!/Move y’self to go again/ Cold water in the face/ Brings you back to this awful place” playing on my dad’s iHome when his alarm goes off.

I’d even rather be in a less convenient place, in a little room in a little house in the country, in a room clearly decorated for someone in their childhood, with pale lavender walls, a twin sized bed, and a porcelain lamp made out of cherries. With a garden and hills and trees outside. A lake at the bottom of the hill, where you can swim all day when it’s warm, floating and looking up at the blue sky. On a cold day there’s always a fire burning in the wood stove, and candles flickering.

Or in a completely new place, that hasn’t been fully imagined yet: a one-bedroom apartment in Boston, that’s little and cozy, an opportunity to furnish it with my loved one. There will be the convenience of a world right outside our door.

There are so many options of so many rooms in so many places that I’d rather be. Yet I’m stuck here, with my full sized empty bed, Monet’s Water Lilies, and Christmas lights. Even with a bit of decoration these four white walls are plain, and scuffed, and the floor is grungy with bits of the tiles missing. And a most unpleasant noise comes from a fridge that rattles, and keeps me awake at night. For now though, this will do. On a good day, it’s not so bad.There are only a few weeks left and weeks trickle by quickly.

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