April 8th, 2002

Happiness is a very small room

It really is just a very small room. I can fit a bed in it but not a whole lot else. it has shallow closet and a little to much window. The walls are a bright luminous irritating white. All in all nothing to write home about.

But I guess I did write home about it. I am ecstatic about it. Just one room makes me happy, the rest of the apartment makes me fit to cry.

Flashback a bit nine months. The cold of the outside bleed through the glass of the window. the layers of blankets help. The sound outside is the sound of cars coming and going. The Light from brightly glowing Favorite Market looks erie filtered through my windshield. Chris who is the third shift guy is a friend so he will not call the cops on me. I close my eyes and try to pretend I am not here and it almost is enough.

Six months ago. I just got the job at earthlink. I am so far in the whole though I am forced to rely on the kindness of friends. The couch is old and smells of all the others who had slept there before. The dogs don't like me and bark a slow grumbling bark every couple of minutes when I change position or cough. People laugh in the back room as the play their games. I close my eyes and try to pretend I am not here and it is almost enough.

Now I look at this small room and know it will be mine very soon. It will be my my door to close. My bed in the room. My little piece of ground. My sanctum. My home.

I can not describe the journey I have walked. But this is the first place i have ever lived where I was the person on the peice of paper. It is not my family's home or my friends home or a commune. It is my home. My signing the paper will make it mine.

I am at the end of one road and beginning another. All based on the hapiness of a very small room.

Slaying My Own Unicorns