September 2, 2016
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Last week, I came back from my vacation. Honestly it was work related and I had to be away from my computer for two weeks. What was interesting was to rediscover my life when I returned. In my sanctum of my bedroom, writing room, sanctum of my inner thoughts and outer release, it describes my life and all my achievements within it.
No one and I mean no one has stepped into my room asides from myself. In this small cubicle with a curtained window, is a open panel computer; aging but holding on as clutter fills the space of my table. cables shunting data and power to a couple sockets in the walls. Creaky hardwood floors as my fan hums away as books and notes from a former life strewn across the top of this so called mess. Underneath are trickets poking out, a multitool, game controller, expired medications, a recently purchased watch. Surprising there is enough to place my phone to charge through my computer.
Behind the chair is a bed fit for one, not much for company but it’s a designated area where I sleep and keep warm in winter. As a guy, I own very little in shoes; a pair for work, casual for getting around, runners for the gym and semi-formal for job hunting. I have two backpacks, one filled with stuff from work and one with my camera gear which I recently purchased stowed within a camera bag itself. I don’t have a headboard but a small shelf sitting next to the door with boxes of games I bought long before Steam – collecting dust. CD’s I’ll never listen because I stream.
This room I consider mine is commandeered from it’s former purpose as a living room, so I have a couch. The couch like my desk is filled with clutter. Mostly everyday clothing I take and interchange from a pile. I do laundry on the regular but this pile is my week’s worth of clothing in a quick grab.
Coming home to this after staring at this for a decade is refreshing. It has given me the impression of the person of who I am from a third person perspective. What I see after a two week absence? Someone who is stuck holding on to the past while looking faithfully in the future. A person who wants to reach out but feels a bit of shame yet pride for all they have accomplished.
I am still here.