46/52 — One Small Thing

[emelbe]

My room hasn’t been a place that I spent time in for a long time. It’s been a place that I slept in, a place that I shambled out of in the morning and didn’t stumble back into until I was ready to go to bed in the evening. I wanted to change that but I just kept not. There were other things that were more important.

Then, last weekend, I moved my bed. Once that was done, I reorganized my closet. Everything changed. I moved another bookcase into my room. Then a desk. With those gone, that meant the living room was unbalanced and everything in there was rearranged. I have a liquor cabinet now. The coffee table and couch were moved just inches but they align with the sliding glass door and the bookshelf in front of it and that line carries all the way through the living room. We took all the art down to give the walls and our eyes a chance to reset before we put it back up. It’s still stacked against each other, leaning against a wall.

It’s changed the whole apartment, that one small action of moving my bed, ninety degrees clock-wise.

My room isn’t quite the refuge I’d like it to be. I’d still like an arm chair, something to flop into and throw my legs over the side, something to read in for hours with a whiskey or a water, but that may be a little while. Still, there’s a desk in my room and somewhere to sit that isn’t the bed. I haven’t had either of those since I lived in a studio and, it turns out, I missed that.