March 15th, 2005

puffin

My cupboard, my room.

"It seemed to be such a contentious issue. Her own space. Finally, however, it was becoming reality. Yes, there were still things to do. For one thing, the desk built into the cupboard with more ergonomic shelving than that already built in – so that she did not have to study or work on the dining table, was still an idea in her head with a lack of skils and funds preventing its implementation. The other item that was still a dream requiring finance and JFDI was the adjustable bed to replace the jury-rigged, support-shaped futon.

She had much of her stuff together in the tiny, cozy room, gathered from all over the flat and arranged within reach – she had plans for how the rest would fit.

The advance on her inheritance had long since run out but the retirement flat that the estate owned seemed to have sold and so there might be some funds in the offing.

She had always wanted a space that she could define and arrange. it was already beginning to feel safe and organised – why did organised equate to safe for her? Perhaps because a retreat was so neccessary in the past. Maybe it helped her to think straight and found it easier to remember where things were when they all had their place.

One day it would be complete. The project was underway and the end was in sight."

(This is the first creative writing that I have attempted in many years and is cross posted from http://www.livejournal.com/users/shadesong/2366371.html?view=30390179#t30390179...)