500 Words or Less Writing Exercise 1: Description and Analysis of My Room.

500 Words or Less Writing Exercise 1: Description and Analysis of My Room.

My room is a cluttered and jumbled mess. I have clothes to hang-up, a bed I never make, too many TV shows taped then I will ever watch, a supply of books always three too many to have kept up on my reading, and mail that I never quite finish sorting and disposing of.

I know now, with all the time that I have had for reflection, that I do this to remain unfinished and so I do not have to assess myself and so I do not have to decide what to do with myself when I find it. Yet, even with these great and seemingly disorderly lengths at which I strive towards in order to dismantle myself to remain slightly unhinged for fear of finding myself completely undone, I have a nervous, bitter, storm that rumbles beneath my flesh. Listless and messy.

So, what does this means? My room serves as a double edged sword. It keeps me from realizing a life outside of these four walls that could be a disaster and in some odd way it is a projection of how I feel inside. So if the last part is true, what do some of the little habits I have and decorations that adorn it mean?

Three matchbooks in various states of use are pinned above my desk from random resorts and a club. Beside them resides a calendar depicting nature in all Her beauty as a stoic sentinel reminding me that days tick by just as the time on the clock resting, gathering dust, beneath it does. A clock that has an alarm, but has had no reason to cry out in the AM for me, for I have no place to be. I have plants that try their best to keep me company, more alive than I sometimes, and maybe more resilient than I am for all the neglect they are fed they survive, some even flourish. The Asian art pieces scattered on ledges and shelves reminding me that I once shared a home decorated with love with a man I thought I loved as much as what we made together. At least the walls have a warmth that makes anything before them pop, their hue a mix between a burnt orange and a sandy muck that come together as a heterogeneous terra cotta, almost as if I planned on making this a metaphorical womb of Mother Nature. Two versions of the Transformer Bumblebee sit atop a shelf in original packaging, an epitaph to my childhood. Finally, on my laptop and best friend, and image of “The Garden Of Earthly Delights” by Hieronymus Bosch to take place of the one I desire to own, frame, and suspend above my bed, but lack the funds to do so.

So what does that tell you of me?