The Decor Calls for It!
Clean sheets on the bed; everything in its place. Quiet. Unbelievably so. Sometimes, in the late evening hours, the bedroom seems almost sterile in it’s silence. Favorite art pieces adorn the wall, sea glass shines on the mantle above the fireplace, mementos of a happy past scattered on the surfaces throughout, yet the room and its trappings, feel anything but warm. Often, as the sun slips down behind the horizon, this room reminds me of a dusty old museum people might visit to remember how life was once upon a time.
I look around. It’s a snapshot. A moment frozen in time. Capturing another time and another place and it all belongs to, in essence, some other person than the one who stands here today.
I turn back the bed clothes and realize I’m all too familiar with the feel of the cool sheets upon my skin. Night after night - so it’s not thing new - and - welcome to it once again tonight. I can’t help but wish things were different. Errant thoughts of never-can-have’s, followed by never-meant-to-be’s. It makes one wonder….well it makes me wonder anyway…why life turns out to be so quiet and lonely for some, while others, ensconced in their happiness, could never fathom the situation.
The silence is overly loud, so I pick up the remote, aim it over my shoulder as I walk to the dresser, and the fan breezes to life. Somehow that whir of white noise helps block out a little of the nothingness in the air.
Once I climb into bed, that silly old cat with the pleasantly plump, ever jiggly belly, takes her place next to me. She looks at me, her green eyes giving me the once over, before beginning her nightly ritual of turning round and round and then flopping down hard against me. But it is relaxing…listening to soft gentle purrs until she’s fast asleep, her head still tucked there under my chin, a whisker tickling my neck from time to time. So I am not completely alone, and for what ever reason, I do love that stripped, orange, formerly feral, beast who showed up at my door one day and decided she lived here - decided she owned the place is more like - and that’s alright. She is a gift everyday.
I think about picking up the book there on the corner of the night stand, reading a couple chapters before I drift off. But no. I’m not interested. Again. No surprise there - my ‘not-interested phase’ has been going strong for the last few years. I sigh and promise myself - again - that I’ll put the book back in the bookshelf tomorrow, full well knowing that I won’t. I never do. I dust it from time to time and let it sit there.
People are a funny lot. Odd. Weird. Whatever word you like. Why do we do (or not do) the things we do? I think sometimes the reasons are buried so deep within us, even we can’t see the answer for ourselves. So I don’t know why I don't just put the book away. Eh. It's comfortable, seeing it there in the daytime. Perhaps it gives me hope that at some point I will find the interest in life I used to have. Or maybe I think the decor needs the balance. Laughs. Yeah, that’s it. It’s the decor. I might start using that line when someone asks me why I’ve done this or that. I’ll just giggle, shrug, and with an overly dramatic flair and a sweep of my hand, I’ll declare “The decor calls for it”.
Who can argue with that declaration right out of left field? Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder, so my decor can be anything I choose it to be. See? It actually makes perfect sense, in a loose, kind of odd skewed way if you squint your eyes really hard and tilt your head to the side. *shrug*
Well, now it’s time to close my eyes and fight the demons of over thinking that greet me at the end of each day. Every thought this time of night becomes a major crisis, and given that I have hours until it’s time to get up again, there’s a load of time for over thinking everything - all the regrets, the wishes that never came true, the mistakes that will be magnified out of proportion, the guilt I carry for even the smallest of incidents dating back to when I was 5 years old, the apologies I wish I’d made, the apologies I made and wish I hadn’t, the emails I've sent that were a colossal mistake, life's f-ups I keep a secret accounting of… of the everything that pops into my head to churn there until the sun comes up.
So now, you all go enjoy your day, your night, or whatever it is there, because I have to run. I have a lot of sleep to miss and even more over-thinking to get through before morning. It’s a big responsibility, but I’ll get it done. I always do. I'm somewhat of an expert by now.
I look around. It’s a snapshot. A moment frozen in time. Capturing another time and another place and it all belongs to, in essence, some other person than the one who stands here today.
I turn back the bed clothes and realize I’m all too familiar with the feel of the cool sheets upon my skin. Night after night - so it’s not thing new - and - welcome to it once again tonight. I can’t help but wish things were different. Errant thoughts of never-can-have’s, followed by never-meant-to-be’s. It makes one wonder….well it makes me wonder anyway…why life turns out to be so quiet and lonely for some, while others, ensconced in their happiness, could never fathom the situation.
The silence is overly loud, so I pick up the remote, aim it over my shoulder as I walk to the dresser, and the fan breezes to life. Somehow that whir of white noise helps block out a little of the nothingness in the air.
Once I climb into bed, that silly old cat with the pleasantly plump, ever jiggly belly, takes her place next to me. She looks at me, her green eyes giving me the once over, before beginning her nightly ritual of turning round and round and then flopping down hard against me. But it is relaxing…listening to soft gentle purrs until she’s fast asleep, her head still tucked there under my chin, a whisker tickling my neck from time to time. So I am not completely alone, and for what ever reason, I do love that stripped, orange, formerly feral, beast who showed up at my door one day and decided she lived here - decided she owned the place is more like - and that’s alright. She is a gift everyday.
I think about picking up the book there on the corner of the night stand, reading a couple chapters before I drift off. But no. I’m not interested. Again. No surprise there - my ‘not-interested phase’ has been going strong for the last few years. I sigh and promise myself - again - that I’ll put the book back in the bookshelf tomorrow, full well knowing that I won’t. I never do. I dust it from time to time and let it sit there.
People are a funny lot. Odd. Weird. Whatever word you like. Why do we do (or not do) the things we do? I think sometimes the reasons are buried so deep within us, even we can’t see the answer for ourselves. So I don’t know why I don't just put the book away. Eh. It's comfortable, seeing it there in the daytime. Perhaps it gives me hope that at some point I will find the interest in life I used to have. Or maybe I think the decor needs the balance. Laughs. Yeah, that’s it. It’s the decor. I might start using that line when someone asks me why I’ve done this or that. I’ll just giggle, shrug, and with an overly dramatic flair and a sweep of my hand, I’ll declare “The decor calls for it”.
Who can argue with that declaration right out of left field? Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder, so my decor can be anything I choose it to be. See? It actually makes perfect sense, in a loose, kind of odd skewed way if you squint your eyes really hard and tilt your head to the side. *shrug*
Well, now it’s time to close my eyes and fight the demons of over thinking that greet me at the end of each day. Every thought this time of night becomes a major crisis, and given that I have hours until it’s time to get up again, there’s a load of time for over thinking everything - all the regrets, the wishes that never came true, the mistakes that will be magnified out of proportion, the guilt I carry for even the smallest of incidents dating back to when I was 5 years old, the apologies I wish I’d made, the apologies I made and wish I hadn’t, the emails I've sent that were a colossal mistake, life's f-ups I keep a secret accounting of… of the everything that pops into my head to churn there until the sun comes up.
So now, you all go enjoy your day, your night, or whatever it is there, because I have to run. I have a lot of sleep to miss and even more over-thinking to get through before morning. It’s a big responsibility, but I’ll get it done. I always do. I'm somewhat of an expert by now.
56-60, F
