I want a desk! I want a desk!
Does anyone else experience this lamenting struggle upon returning home from school? The September that I came to Uni my parents moved from Trinidad to Tobago, and in the process got rid of my bedroom. That sounds kind of horrible when I put it that way. It really wasn't a jumping for joy at getting rid of the last kid kind of thing (I hope), it was just something we'd been talking about and my Dad's work and all the rest of that life stuff. I sleep in the guest bedroom now.
Okay never mind it is horrible.
My brothers live in an apartment together, so they have rooms to call their own, they have lovely, expansive desks and even desk chairs. I have a suitcase. I love my suitcase, but it's driving me!
The problem is that I live on my computer, and therefore I live at my desk. I do my work there, I write there, I have my fun there. When it isn't there I have to wander the house for a wall plug and play MMOs on the floor. Technically, my old desk from highschool is down here, in storage along with some of my belongings while another much larger chunk is in Ottawa and another much smaller chunk is in Guelph and Ronnie is somewhere between all of these places in a land called Frustration. I may or may not be sick of my transient lifestyle right now.
Which is weird! I love being on the go! I love living out of a suitcase and heading off to who knows where at the turn of a dime, but I have come to the conclusion that a home port, no matter how expensive and awkward it may seem, is really a necessary part of life. So I think that's my problem. The boy's apartment isn't home, but Tobago isn't really home anymore, either. At least, it's not as much home as it used to be. I'm only around for a few months of the year anyway. So where is home? Where is my desk? Guelph especially isn't home right now, Guelph is where I am really and truly homeless (to save on tears let's change the topic). I had always imagined that out of university I would keep this life up as best I could, and try to keep as mobile as I can, but now I want a pad. I want a crib. I want a fucking desk. When I get out of here I want to go to wherever it is that I decide I want to go after my undergrad, and I want to rent a place. I want to nest like nobody has nested before. Independence, ahoy! I'm coming after ye.
This post deals entirely with my own feelings and love of sailor slang; it has nothing whatsoever to do with my recent enjoyment of interior design blogs. Nothing at all!
I think what you want my dear friend is a hobbit hole to call your own. It's sort of like how I don't live with my dad but I have my own bedroom there, and whenever I head down on a weekend and go to put my bag down and see some of his stuff in my room I feel kind of violated. Like, ay yo- that's room/space, you have your own. Walking around Guelph I know I have a place here and a place in Toronto, a space acknowledged as the space where I relax, read, etc.
ReplyDeleteKnowing that there is a place for you even if you're not physically close to it is comforting as well as grounding. So yeah, hobbit hole. Minus the auctioning off of stuff if you're presumed dead.
I think you're right, my friend. That's one thing that PJ pointed out in his adaptation that I never really got out of reading the book - the importance of home. It's a lot more significant that I ever realized.
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