Note to the Reader: Posts with the preface of IRL pertain to my everyday life. If you are only interested in WoW shenanigans then check back tomorrow, good day!
Since I’ve moved into my house I’ve mostly been living in one room. The computer room. I’m just not used to having this much space. It’s foreign to me. Growing up my family was rather poor and places we lived were small. It didn’t help that I had 2 brothers and a sister. We moved around so much when I was growing up that I learned to lived out of boxes. I never unpacked because I wasn’t sure when we’d have to pack it all up and move again.
It doesn’t bother me. Just the way I live. Now, I’ve got all this space and these blank canvas walls and I’m struggling to find the urge to put things on the canvas. Some strange phobia that I might have to move it all shortly after putting it up. It’s weird.
I’ve got several boxes in my living room with assorted items like books, some photos, dishes, a pot and a pan (I only have 1 of each). Since I’ve got friends coming over for Thanksgiving I should probably get my shit situated, at least presentable to others. It just astounds me. Why is it that you have to make a mess BIGGER before you can make it smaller?
I now own several things that houses need like an icebox and a table (with 4 stools) and a couch but I have one item that has a ton of sentimental value. A cheap, particle board bookshelf that I’ve had for over a decade. If furniture could talk… man what would it say.
I placed it and started to unpack some boxes creating a huge pile of chaos that I sorted out onto the bookshelf. Its kind of sappy but after I was done I stepped back and it just kind of hit me. This is my stuff on my bookshelf in my home.
I know its silly but they say it’s the little things in life. Those little moments of zen.