I was unloading onto my best friend the stress that came with moving to a big and unforgiving city without any familiar faces. I tried to laugh through the aching in my body as I explained my selection process to consolidate my entire life into one suitcase. I told him how much I hated that New York City was still 30 degrees colder than those soCal beaches friends Facebook with pictures and check-ins. They don’t know how good they have it running free on sandy shores while I’m here in my box wearing one of the only two sweaters I own.
I begged my parents to send me more of my belongings from their house. I told him that when the box arrived I was not only elated to have two more coats but I taped the box back up and said, “Bam! A nightstand.” He laughed at my painful joke. Then offered some perspective by saying, “You’re better off where you are now. I mean, which would you rather have: a couch for a bed or a box for a night stand?” I laughed at how pathetic my choices were but accepted it in all its sad implications. I answered him, “Isn’t that what it’s all about? The choice between a couch for a bed or a box for a nightstand?” He probably didn’t know what I meant but laughed along in cheery support.
I have not owned dishes in four years. Drawers in three years. A desk in two years. A nightstand in almost a year. And I have never owned a brand new bed. In the my adult years I have managed to obtain things second-hand by dumpster diving, free-cycles, and renting. And in the most recent months from July 2010 to February 2011 I have been sleeping on other peoples’ couches (by the way, thank you Megan, Kendall, Andy, Mom, and Mark). To sleep on my own bed for the first time in months brought the greatest comfort to me.
If you ever lived with me then you probably hated how early I would get up and play music or how annoying it was to hear me in the kitchen. But for the first time I understand the attraction of sleeping in. I purposely have classes and a work schedule that allow me to stay in until noon. The first secret of stability was revealed to me and it was in my 1000 thread count sheets of comfortable accomplishment.
When I did have furniture and an uncomfortable bed (my last one tried to kill me with its pronging springs) I spent a lot of time trying to stay away or stay occupied. I was always at my desk or just never at home. The only attraction to the furniture I possessed was to dump my shit. My room was filled with furniture that held knickknacks, organized trinkets, displayed some novelty, hide whatnots or just kept my shit. So to go home was to just go home for some of my shit and leave.
Don’t get me wrong, furniture is completely necessary. I would love to have my shelves of books and dvds in my possession! But I don’t have possessions, at least not anymore so there is truly no need to put my shit anywhere. And my possessions never really compelled me to be home, instead they just entertained me while I was there.
And that’s what it’s all about: having a real bed at the expense of a box for a nightstand. Out of the two pathetic choices I have made the better one by creating something like a stable home. Because I can be entertained anywhere but I can only sleep in my bed.
-trISH*
