Being “settled in” seems a bit optimistic at this point since not a lot of places feel “home-y” to me lately, because I am a working vagabond I find it hard to nest in one place for two long. I haven’t lived in the same room for the past four years, I have moved every eight months since I began my university career and it is looking like this wil continue for at least the next year. So needless to say it has been hard to unpack and become comfortable in one place at all. I guess this is as close as I’m going to get, and it usually happens during the summer when I don’t have to strictly do school work.
And so I sit in my mess of a room littered with Easter chocolate, half-packed suitcases, beautiful flowers and books. All of the books. Books books books books are my life, books are the things that keep me going that help me breathe everyday. I have a few books that I refuse to put in a box or in my closet on a shelf because they remind me of specialness, of smartness of kindness, of calmness, and they remind me that I can do what I do because inspiration comes from small, strange places for me. Books, in their own right, have provided me so much love since I knew the Berenstein Bears, since Harry held my hand through elementary school and beyond, since Holden sparked curiosity and Hazel stole my heart. I love the adventures, I love the adventures that are inside your head when you read, the moments, the imagining of characters of narratives of speeches, everything so unique to the experience you have yourself. The room I am sitting in which is littered with books would love a shelf.
A beautiful, hand made book shelf courtesy of my grandfather. I do not think my room is going to see it as it is well known in my family that I am attracted to moving a lot and not having an empty space in my rooms, but it is happening and it is going to be beautiful and full. I am currently reading a few books, none of them as full as the ones with actual pages, it seems that reading with your ears is a bit different than holding a physical book in your hands.
Apart from the books my room is sincerely full. It cannot hold another thing. While I leave on my trip I will be moving the rest of the random furniture in the hallway and the basement into my room a to not bother my family while I am gone but when I get home it really is time to get down to business. What is going to stay and what is going to go into storage and what is going to…well, find some space elsewhere? I hate the idea of organizing my life. Why is it that I have to put everything in specific spots and finalize things? Why can’t I just…move through it for a while until I find my feet?
In all honesty if I had a place that was mine for longer than a year I’d unpack and spread out, clamp in my roots, but that isn’t happening anytime soon.
For now I prepare for my trip and I pack my two bags that are separate, I clean my room, organize what I like, and brush over the rest. I can deal with everything when I get back from South America and French Canada.
Have I talked about my trip yet? Guess I’ll be writing another post in the morning.