I walked in the door to my mother’s house after an hour drive home in traffic carrying a large blue ikea bag in with me. I had just emptied some of my camping supplies I had left in my trunk this summer to make room for my snowboard and make more space. Not two steps in the door, my mom inquired “What’d you buy?” My calm demeanor transitioned to unpleasant. “I didn’t buy anything, I emptied my car – not that I have anywhere to put this stuff, I live in a box.” After being ignored by my mom and ridiculed by her boyfriend I made my way to my bedroom. The only room in the house that I feel comfortable in. The main storage grounds for everything that I own. Four walls, painted magenta years ago when I shared this same room with my twin sister. It wasn’t long ago this room held two twin beds and zero privacy. Currently, the room holds most of my camping gear, my sewing machine, and my TV. A foldable table is set up below one of the two windows. Clothes in need of organization, christmas gifts, and sewing patterns have kept the table from being tucked neatly away. My desk is somewhat cluttered and in a dark part of the room diagonally opposite my lamp light. The front piece of the middle draw is not attached and is hiding in the chest that’s at the foot of my bed. That draw acts more like a shelf now and is home to random toiletries. A different unit holds kitchen things. I keep my toothbrush in the bathroom. It’s one of the few things I actually let outside my room. Outside of my room nothing else feels like mine. I never watch TV in the living room and cooking is a rare activity. If I eat at home, it tends to be on my bed streaming a TV show off of Hulu or Netflix. The one commodity I do enjoy at home outside my room is making tea. That’s probably due to the quick simplicity of it. I call my room a box. It’s not large, but I wouldn’t call it tiny either. However, when your 26 years old you start to accumulate much more. And thus, this not-so-small room becomes part bedroom, part living room, part craft room, and part storage room. I keep everything in my box (of a room). Although, I clean it well, and manage the clutter to the best of my ability, the room starts to feel more and more confining. Confining my things. And confining me.


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