how do you dream
when you’re just a machine
imagining colors you can’t see?
I will never, ever take having a bed, or bedroom, for granted again. With the addition of the rug, the chair and lamp in the corner, and some wall decor, it’s become a cozy, personalized spot in the house, something I’ve not had in, frankly, decades. The cubbies in the middle of the room are particularly pleasing, given that 1) they’re full of books that make me happy, and just scanning my eyes over them is satisfying, and 2) their dark color works with the window opposite to bisect the room into sleeping and working halves. I thought they would overpower the room when I first moved them down from the loft, but they haven’t, instead creating the effect listed above. I need a ceiling fan, a side table for the chair (on order), and maybe a small ottoman, and the room will be complete, such as it is.
It was challenging to get used to sleeping in a bed again. I still have trouble sleeping most nights. Part of that is just me being used to the feeling of physical security by having a couch back behind me, and the couch’s arm in the vicinity of my feet, locating them, even though my feet overhung most couches. Sleeping in a large, flat bed alone, I have no similar reference points, and it makes me feel, well, somewhat lost, physically. I do enjoy the cats’ company, though, and it’s gotten better since I started, so here’s hoping I’ll continue to get used to it. I think tightening down the bed will help; it’s a little creaky.
In a larger sense, as much as I love this house—and I feel more attached to it than any house I’ve lived in, including the little one in Lewisville, which I loved dearly—there’s always a mental block that keeps it from really feeling like home. I think it’s a combination of the fact that I know I won’t be in Chattanooga forever, and just a slowly creeping sense of my own mortality. I know that’s heavy, but it’s true. Something deep down resists getting too attached to any one place—even those where I feel the most home, like France or Hayesville. I actually envy those who exhibit real house pride, who post pictures of their decor or room setups in a way that communicates that they’ve made a true home for themselves, someplace that completely reflects who they are. There are places that feel like home to me, but they’re larger areas, not specific living quarters. I’ve always felt almost like an imposter in my own house, mainly due to the relationship circumstances present in the house, but also that I’ve rarely devoted real resources to creating a personalized space beyond repairs and the occasional functional upgrade like a shed in the back yard, or the folding door to the pantry, etc. Maybe it will be different now. I’ve been encouraged by the success of my efforts to find decor I like and that seems to match the space; I have little faith in my interior decoration acumen. My emotions have so few safe places to land these days, so if making my house’s interior a little more satisfying to live in is one of them, I guess I’ll take what I can get.