Tuesday, October 2, 2012

My parents have lived in our Colorado house for 21 years. We moved there right after I turned 3. It's the place I've lived for the longest period of time in my life. The house was built for us, and I remember being 2, almost 3 years old, walking through the unfinished structure with my mom and dad. They asked me which room I wanted, and I pointed to the master bedroom. But since I was made to understand that 3 year olds didn't get the master bedroom, I choose the room at the end of the hall. They decorated it as follows, and I didn't change it for 21 years, until this summer.
When I was very little, I used to peel the teddy bear wall paper with my tiny fingers, so for all these years, the panel of bears next to my bed was mangled. I took these photos right before we donated the furniture and stripped the paper, so there isn't anything on my shelves, but over the years they've been filled with various objects I've accumulated. Those objects are now in boxes in my closet where clothes used to be, and there's only a small space, filled with empty hangers, for the times I'll visit home.

Post painting, IKEA, organizing, Decade, and assembling, this is what my room looks like now:
Because it's nice to pretend that you're a grown up.

Since all I ever did when I lived there was dream of living in New York City, I got a giant old canvas map of Manhattan to hang above my bed. The whiskey bottles are all the whiskeys I consumed this summer in Boulder. The books are my favorite books from when I was a kid. The few other items are the only things I've collected over the years that I felt suited my new room. But when I'm home now, I still have to sleep against the wall, because my body only remembers the old room. And when I finally do fall asleep, it's in the presence of all my old furniture, and in front of the small white phantom television that used to watch me from the foot of my bed.

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