"Tell me something about where you sleep – you can’t get more personal than that. I don’t mind if it’s fact, fiction or a mixture, tell me as much detail about your bed, bedroom, sleeping quarters as you possibly can.
Tell me how you feel about the room, your bed, your bedcovers, your pillows. Give me detail, make me think I’m there, seeing what you see, thinking what you think."
I like this very much because creative writing in high school was always my favourite. I won't use images because I'd like to see how effective my words are at creating an image in your mind (please let me know...)
This will be in two sections, because I've just realised that the concept of "my bedroom" in my life has undergone a transformation post-marriage...
One last thing, to those I'm following: I'm very sorry for not getting round to your blogs recently. This past week has been hectic and I'm trying to adjust things so that I can steemit properly.
Pre-Marriage
Of course, as we grow up, we all make our bedrooms into extended representations of ourselves... And growing up, I had many bedrooms, as my father was in the South African Air Force so he was transferred all over the country. (I went to a total of 8 schools before getting to high school). After leaving home, I also moved around a lot and so had several more bedrooms. What I'll do now is describe a space that melds these spaces into one... A conglomerate of constant themes maintained through a changing physical space...
If my bed was my home planet, where I spent time in and out of dreams, my computer was the sun around which the rest of my bedroom orbited.
It was the source of life... The source of my information, my social life, my entertainment, my productivity. Even today, if I lost my computer, I'd feel lost in the dark until I found a new one.
On my computer table, which was often in the center of the room, I kept many little symbols of things, all very neatly organised. The Bast statue and egyptian sarcophogus, gifts from my mother. My father's gold Quartz watch, no longer ticking (just like him). Dozens of smaller items and papers, stuck down with prestic...; lucky packet toys, a photo of my siblings, doodles on post-its, story ideas and quotes, collages made from magazine cut-outs. Small little parts of my life, chosen to stay for a while, to be a reminder of where/who I was as the solar system flew across the galaxy.
The ambience was important to me too... I was aware of the way the senses affect memory from early on, especially smell. So I had different incenses for different moods, fairy lights around the edges of the ceiling, with different colours of organza lighting up in different rhythms, again, set according to my mood. And music... Ahh, music. The internet provided me with thousands of mp3s, with which I made several custom 'albums' complete with cover art. I can play those albums today and instantly be transported to specific times in the past.
Bookshelves and candles... Not exactly the safest combination, I know, but I was in love with the medieval aesthetic and was always very careful. I loved writing and reading by candlelight, with my goblet filled with red wine (in the winter, Glühwein). When rain was added to this, with petrichor in my nostrils and a book or my journal in front of me, life was perfect.
Post-Marriage
It all changed, however, when I got married. Suddenly I don't have a room anymore. It is now our room. The floor of white tiles and the wall, an off-white, emit none of the charm my bedrooms of old had. Two brown, wooden, built-in cupboards frame the double bed we share, used for sleeping and for intimacy... Our bed instead of my bed. I don't dream the way I used to, if at all.
The bed is always neatly made. I used to make my bed quite often, but sometimes not. Sometimes I didn't feel like it. Sometimes I stayed in it for the whole day. Now it's always made, with the pillows under the top sheet and our pyjamas under our pillows. And nothing is ever under the bed, real or imagined.
There's an iron in the corner of the room. We use the corner of the bed, not having bought an ironing board yet.
Above our heads, on a shelf that extends from cupboard to cupboard, there are ornaments. My side and her side. My ornaments used to make mysterious migrations all over the place if they weren't stuck down with prestic... Not these. They live in their spots, only sometimes perturbed by a ill-calculated toss of a hairbrush or nail-clippers...
The shelf above this is my consolation... All my favourite books, in a stoic row, with my Bast statue and sarcophagus keeping them company.
And finally, I used to re-arrange my room just for the fun of it every few months. I loved getting into bed facing a new direction, looking at things from a different perspective. Now, just like my life, after marriage, my bedroom is no longer re-arrangable. The bed fits in the space it was made to fit in. The cupboards are built into the walls. I am married.
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A few recent posts of mine:
"Leaf" - Gallery: Designs | "Not Yet Now" - Poems, 006 | My Slothicorn Introduction! - My History with Art
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