Makeover

Settlng in to the new apartment.  It's amazing how much just having an apartment of my own and putting a little effort into decorating it like I want it has made me feel so much older.  like I've finally reached adulthood.  Huh.  So this is what I'll be like when I grow up.  I still don't know what the career'll be, or who the main characters are, but I know what color sofa and what sort of odds and ends express who I am as a person.  What nonsense.  The day I signed me lease, I came and sat on the floor of my empty apartment and thought and thought for hours.  I asked myself, "What kind of sofa is me?"  "If my inner self were to materialize into a dining room set, what would it look like?"  "Am I the kind of person who hangs pictures in the living room or do I stick to just art?"  It bothered me that I didn't know. 

And then I realized what totally useless questions these were, what a tiny sliver of people in the world actually have the luxury of asking them, how I'm falling for that ole lie of consumerism - that I am what I own, and so I almost gave up the whole enterprise altogether.  But then, visiting home, I found a strange centerpiece tucked in the guest room, three glass balls of assorted colors, nestled in a blue glass tray, for no good reason, and I thought "Hey.  I could see that in my apartment."  and the rest is history.  Now, I got the fever.  and the only prescription is more trinkets.

At least I'm narrowing down my consumer identity.  Dad's lady came up with him today to help me move in, and she had lots of fun ideas, do-it-yourself kindsa things.  I mean, I'm having fun with it, ya know?  I remember when my friends from home first started talking about furniture and home-making projects, and I took it as a cue that they'd officially become boring.  But Friday night, Dad and I talked for hours about decorating, and I LOVED IT.  Oh well.