Is all I want.
I watch these shows on television filled with excess and decadence and while its nice eye candy, its not what I want, or need. I just need a room for my stuff, with a desk, some shelves, a table for my record player and a corner for my easel.
I opened up my closest today, in an attempt to start packing again. My closest is filled with boxes, marked Kingston, Vancouver, England, Sarnia, etc. Ghosts of my past stacked neatly in colour coded rubbermaids. As I was picking through my things, my eye caught a Polaroid, stuck between a stack of books and some kitchen supplies. I can’t have pictures in frames, for the most part, because glass breaks in a move (lesson learned). It was a picture of my mom and I. I couldn’t have been more than three.
The picture made me smile, but also made me sad. I’m not sure why, but perhaps because as much as I hate to admit it, I’d be nice to have someone scoop you up in their arms hold you and tell you everything is going to be alright. Sure your life may be a series of boxes, friends are shattered all over the globe like confetti, but things could be worse and you just found all your oil pastels, charcoal pens and your old sketch book.
I guess everyone needs a pat on the head every now and again. Today is just my day.