Word Vomit
Am I the only one to notice how clearly someone's bedroom reflects their personality? More often than not, it's like their past, present, and future lives, passions, and relationships have been smeared on the walls and tabletops of someone's bedroom. As I am opening new doors (literally & figuratively) in my life lately, I have found myself so interested in the things that I see and overanalyze. If there are photographs scattered, they are usually of friends or family- it seems that there is rarely an even distribution of both. If there are any articles of clothing thrown carelessly on the floor, it is likely you will hear "I'm sorry it's sort of a mess right now" upon crossing the threshold. Things that have been hung on the walls seem to have a more significant meaning to the inhabitant than items placed on shelves or on desks; each photo, art piece, or otherwise is likely to have a story or an explanation for it's honorable placement on the wall. Every little aspect from the color of sheets, patterns on bedspreads, paint on the walls, or arrangement of furniture was put in it's place for some reason. It's interesting to think that when you are in someone's bedroom, you are in their own private part of the world. This is the one space that one is always able to do anything to or in. Our most private, comfortable moments are spent within those four walls.
Speaking for myself, I know and love that I can tell a story about every item within my small space. I can tell you where the furniture is from, how each book ended up on my bookshelf, why the picture above my television has been hanging crooked for months, and exactly where each article of my clothing is located (whether it be on the floor, in the hamper, in drawers, on hangers, or thrown on the back of a chair). Upon first entering, it may be overwhelming because it is somewhat cluttered. There is little consistency in colors or patterns and there is something hanging on almost every inch of my walls although the paint behind them is white. My sheets don't match my comforter and my burgundy dresser doesn't correspond with my wooden desk. In most cases, my OCD would not allow for such living arrangements but the ability to look around my room from my place in my bed and feel comforted by the things that I see surrounding me outweighs my insane need for organization. My random collection of things makes me feel human. Each item having a background reminds me that I have a story. I don't have but seven photographs out in the open but the "things" that fill my tiny room remind me of the people that have entered, stayed, or left my life in the past twenty-one years.
I should get back to reading 50 pages on logarithms. I apologize for the over-analysis.
Speaking for myself, I know and love that I can tell a story about every item within my small space. I can tell you where the furniture is from, how each book ended up on my bookshelf, why the picture above my television has been hanging crooked for months, and exactly where each article of my clothing is located (whether it be on the floor, in the hamper, in drawers, on hangers, or thrown on the back of a chair). Upon first entering, it may be overwhelming because it is somewhat cluttered. There is little consistency in colors or patterns and there is something hanging on almost every inch of my walls although the paint behind them is white. My sheets don't match my comforter and my burgundy dresser doesn't correspond with my wooden desk. In most cases, my OCD would not allow for such living arrangements but the ability to look around my room from my place in my bed and feel comforted by the things that I see surrounding me outweighs my insane need for organization. My random collection of things makes me feel human. Each item having a background reminds me that I have a story. I don't have but seven photographs out in the open but the "things" that fill my tiny room remind me of the people that have entered, stayed, or left my life in the past twenty-one years.
I should get back to reading 50 pages on logarithms. I apologize for the over-analysis.