10 September 2005

Life in Piles

It's strange what you can become accustomed to. For nearly three years, I haven't slept on a real bed unless I was traveling. This past year it's been a futon which has never resumed its sofa alter ego; the year before, an air mattress on the floor; and the year before that, mostly sofas, sofabeds, and futons when I was exploring the country.

The closet in my room has sliding doors and is laid out backwards regarding where the shelves and rods go as far as I'm concerned, so I don't have much in it. A couple of large duffels are full of towels, sweaters, and clothing dressier enough than what I usually wear that they've remained mostly packed and untouched. A clothes basket resting on an upended one forms a makeshift dresser for underclothes and socks. A pile of pajamas and paperwork sit on an ottoman against the wall. Instead of hanging, my t-shirts are folded and stacked on the box my printer came in. A column of DIY metal cubes holds shorts, long sleeve tees, and hooded sweatshirts. None of this felt strange until I had to significantly rearrange my piles to accommodate some furniture shifting. I'm still living here like I don't live here.

I miss the few big closets I was lucky enough to ever have. I want one of those room-sized walk-ins they're always showing on CRiBs. I'm not a clothes horse, but I like to hang everything so I can see it and never have to iron.

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