(no subject)
hmmm, it's late... that thing at the top is telling me the time... and that i should probably sleep soon in order to hopefully suck in some knowledge at psych tomorrow... ah well, none for steph, apparently
i've decided that i adore my room... it seems to fit me perfectly, safe, dark, warm and filled with the accumulated memorabilia that a lifetime of hoarding will bring you... and not a single mirror :)
i can look around here, right now, and find at least one "souvenier" from the majority of the significant events in my life of the previous six months... maybe even year
i also find some small satisfaction in the fact that i know, if i dig a little deeper into the mess, through cupboards, into boxes, in piles or bookshelves i can find almost my entire life.
Still in my cupboard i'll find clothes my mum bought home one summer holiday when i was nine or ten, a dress that i wore to a new years eve party when i was eight. In my bookshelf can be found so many treasures, the first book i ever read, a political picture book that my brother gave my sister when we were young, and i promptly stole, and the myriad of school stories that my mum loved for me to read, but got sort of awkward when i decided that i wanted boarding school and midnight feasts.
There's a peacock feather on my wall that has been there since early primary school and a pile of papers, books and folders in my corner that is year 12, notes, uni brochures, and the cartoons that i drew when my mind could no longer focus, and made all the kids in my chemistry class think me a little unhinged.
i have every concert ticket, every metcard, many bottletops and alcohol bottles, and most importantly every letter that i've ever received. All presents are here, somewhere hidden, to be discovered unexpectedly as i'm searching frantically for a bus fare, socks, or papers from the start of the year.
i believe that this... aside, of course, from pure laziness, is where my aversion to cleaning stems from. I know from just looking that if my room was tidy, everything boxed away and out of sight... not only would i never see a lot of these things again, but there simply wouldn't be room, things would inevitably have to be thrown away, and i hate that, it's horrid.
it reminds me of a den in some ways... or maybe a nice cave... darker than the rest of the house, and a little colder, but still filled with furry blankets and pyjamas.
i'm seriously considering updating things in here, such as the tv, acquiring a dvd player... then i shall be able to live almost exclusively in my room when not out and about. This should make for a happy steph :)
i've decided that i adore my room... it seems to fit me perfectly, safe, dark, warm and filled with the accumulated memorabilia that a lifetime of hoarding will bring you... and not a single mirror :)
i can look around here, right now, and find at least one "souvenier" from the majority of the significant events in my life of the previous six months... maybe even year
i also find some small satisfaction in the fact that i know, if i dig a little deeper into the mess, through cupboards, into boxes, in piles or bookshelves i can find almost my entire life.
Still in my cupboard i'll find clothes my mum bought home one summer holiday when i was nine or ten, a dress that i wore to a new years eve party when i was eight. In my bookshelf can be found so many treasures, the first book i ever read, a political picture book that my brother gave my sister when we were young, and i promptly stole, and the myriad of school stories that my mum loved for me to read, but got sort of awkward when i decided that i wanted boarding school and midnight feasts.
There's a peacock feather on my wall that has been there since early primary school and a pile of papers, books and folders in my corner that is year 12, notes, uni brochures, and the cartoons that i drew when my mind could no longer focus, and made all the kids in my chemistry class think me a little unhinged.
i have every concert ticket, every metcard, many bottletops and alcohol bottles, and most importantly every letter that i've ever received. All presents are here, somewhere hidden, to be discovered unexpectedly as i'm searching frantically for a bus fare, socks, or papers from the start of the year.
i believe that this... aside, of course, from pure laziness, is where my aversion to cleaning stems from. I know from just looking that if my room was tidy, everything boxed away and out of sight... not only would i never see a lot of these things again, but there simply wouldn't be room, things would inevitably have to be thrown away, and i hate that, it's horrid.
it reminds me of a den in some ways... or maybe a nice cave... darker than the rest of the house, and a little colder, but still filled with furry blankets and pyjamas.
i'm seriously considering updating things in here, such as the tv, acquiring a dvd player... then i shall be able to live almost exclusively in my room when not out and about. This should make for a happy steph :)