Skip to main content

The Move, p. 2 and so on.

So we're all moved in and pretty settled. Marcel is doing great though clearly starting to jones for the great outdoors, but that issue is still subject to debate. I've managed to strip down my objects and belongings so while I still have "a lot of stuff", it's a lot less than it was. My room is a room I can live in, and it's pretty awesome.
My room. Still a work in progress but I'd say 94% there at least.
There you go, that's my room. Still not quite full settled, but it's almost there. I need to get a real rolly chair, for one, and to hang my white/bulletin board. You can see my dual monitors going on, some of my knickknacks unobtrusively placed, and even my beautifully made bed. Yeah, that's a thing I do now. The drawers on top of the desk (upper right corner), which probably won't look like drawers to you, are from my glorious little writing desk; it's leg was breaking so my mom is fixing it.


I even had my first friend over last night. Poor guy got the "full tour", which comprises most of our 1100 sq. ft. Oh yeah, it was grueling I'm sure.

But for really, it's a really great feeling having everything unpacked and feeling settled in. And unlike other attempts at living on my own in some capacity, I'm actually taking ownership (cf. those posts about chores). I don't mean to dismiss past living situations as fruitlessly lazy & ineffectual ventures. I know I kept house somewhat decently in New York, for example; I was great about the kitchen for the most part, but my room was a deathtrap of moldering cum and unwashed everything. Not a complete success, I'd say.

And I don't want to sound off childish platitudes like "But now everything is different...", either, because I'm still the same person, just better at managing things like clutter and cleaning, I hope. Just because it seems like I've got a handle on things now doesn't mean I always will nor does it mean I can kick back and let myself off the hook. It's great I'm keeping house and stuff, but I have to continue keeping house and stuff.


As I said, I had my first "guest" over last night. It was pretty sweet feeling. Welcoming someone into my home, looking around and thinking, "Yeah, this is where I live, and it's not so bad.". That slight sense of pride in the home my roommate and I have put together is a fantastic feeling; far, far removed from the embarrassment I felt in my old room at my parents', where, perhaps haunted by my room in New York, I was usually paranoid about clutter and smells and what people's impressions of me would be.

It's safe to say I don't have that here in the new place. I think, too, that maintaining a home I can be proud of is something I can manage. And that in itself is a great fucking feeling.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Or just tell me what you think.

Other things that might interest you...

On aging, and fear.

To begin with, I’m not sure you’re aware of it, but I’m middle aged. Oh? What gave it away? Using a blog as my primary literary medium?¹ Hm. But in fact, the APA defines 35 years as the end of “young adulthood.” Yeah. I found out via some shitpost on twitter when I was already 35, so it didn’t sit well with me then either. But my worries about aging began much sooner than that. See, even in my 20s, I feared I’d been wasting my life. I’d struggled with school and life and everything since graduating high school, arguably sooner, and nothing seemed to be going anywhere meaningful . I felt I had a limited social life, a dead-end job, no money, no great travels, a limping love life; I was, generally, a loser, wasting away... There were none of the usual hallmarks of success or happiness. And that scared me. Would my life have been worth it if I continued in this direction? Would it have been a “life well lived” by the end? So, this is my existential struggle. Even now, as I lurch ever nea
Post a Comment
Read more

Changing lanes.

I was driving home in some traffic last night when I drifted, in my mind, a long way back (about 20 years) to high school. I was caught in one of those periodic traffic slowdowns as I floated back; you know, those waves of congestion that seem to pass backward through the columns of cars in each lane. (I've heard they start because someone switches lanes, and in response, a rippling emergent slowness travels backward and outward as the cars behind it accommodate the change, one by one.) What drew me back to those younger days was that, back in high school, similar phenomena of congestion took place in the halls between classes, when eddies of young humans would get caught in and around those clumps of those chatting by lockers or retrieving books. Occasionally, backups would occur when groups of people got caught in these eddies, or collided with other groups by the lockers, and slowdowns would ripple back from there. Maybe it's not exactly the same, but as I drove it seemed si
Post a Comment
Read more

On phases and fixations.

My fixations are powerful, but they can also be maddeningly ephemeral and fleeting. And I hate that; about them and, honestly, about myself. But I’ve never really  asked why I feel that way... I'll commit immense amounts of time and energy and even money to a fixation for a few weeks, maybe even a month or two, sometimes rebranding my whole personality around it, then just...move on. I'm not sure when I first noticed this pattern—if it was always there or if it emerged and intensified over time—but it's been part of me for a long while. And every time I do, I feel such guilt and shame. Who even am I if I can't be consistent, dedicated, substantive? How disingenuous is it that nothing I care about lasts? I’ve always just accepted those feelings; I’ve never poked at them in earnest. If you can’t tell from the recent flurry of activity on this blog, I have been fixated on blogging; I mentioned in a recent post about this blog that I had a compulsion to revamp the whole bl
Post a Comment
Read more