tavie.com

Last night was my first night in my "new" room. I put Gina's grandmother's patchwork quilt on the bed (the understated one, not the electric-blue-and-neon-orange one) and the flannel sheet set my mom gave me. Then it was a room-room. The feeling's sort of indescribable.

I posted about when we first turned the Red Room into my bedroom here (post-specific link probably won't work; it's the last post on the page), but the peaceful happiness I felt last night was at least twice the exuberant joy expressed then. Somehow, with a real bed, a room feels like a room. It probably doesn't mean much to most people who've not had to share a room, but the very fact of having a space all to oneself, to decorate and keep neat (or messy) as you please, it's a definite sort of oxymoronic peaceful-explosion kind of joy. Contentedness so complete that it bursts from synapse to synapse. A symphony of calm. Nothing is getting through right, but I suppose it's okay, as long as I know what I mean.

Here's to hoping that this post doesn't make my sister think that I'm trying to be superior or condescending.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:08 PM | shower me with attention