It all started a few years ago. Friends of mine, who I had considered up until that point, my equals began snatching up parcels of land. Okay, maybe not “land” per say and certainly not parcels, but they started buying houses, or condos, and generally “moving up” in the world, whether the direction of the moving was to east or west, like younger, less follicly challenged versions of Donald Trump. I suppose it’s a natural inclination to want to carve out a space for yourself, so I can hardly blame them. Becoming an adult, and owning a home go hand in hand I suppose. I can hardly argue with someone that wants to avoid paying high rent prices for a place they hold no sovereignty over. In the days where everyone I knew either lived at home, with siblings in shitty apartments, or with me I had dabbled, somewhat, in the realm these people were stepping into. On the precipice of something dangerous, the people I held dear were all entering the world of interior decoration.
When I was younger I don’t remember putting much thought into window treatments, or whether “coordination” really mattered all that much. I really only thought about draping in regards to fort building, and the fabric requirements ended at it being imaginary-bullet proof. But thrust, perhaps unwillingly, into my twenties, I failed to realize that these qualities would come to hold so much importance. The purchasing of furniture that matched and was suited to the size and function of the room dominated my conversations. Keeping up with the proverbial Jones’ my friends had become was startling and suddenly of the utmost importance. I was jealous of name brand paint colours, and flawless wood veneer. Micro-suede sofas as apposed to more traditional fabrics were hotly debated over drinks and dinner. But being a single person the silly notion of wanting to be a writer, and with nary a trust fund in my sights the dream of home ownership, and interior design in the realm and scope of my friends had to be held off.
But I got by. Acquiring through various places I’ve received copies of Muppet portraiture, framed and hung in a series of six- the smiling faces of Kermit and friends added pizzazz and humor to every room. A giant silver question mark hangs over my bed, and a silver owl sits beside. I’ve learnt that in apartment living, while one cannot knock down walls, or really paint anything for fear of losing the damage deposit, you can tie a room together with accessories. Furniture is expensive and not to mention bulky. Moving as many times as I have, I’ve found it is much easier to move a box of knick knacks, than say a curio cabinet. You have to have a truck to haul a desk and chair but you can put a box of ceramic horses in any car’s trunk. Arranging a collection of oddly shapes vases can turn an empty room into a museum. Arranging items on the floor or on cheaply purchased furniture of Norwegian origins is my go to when it comes to pulling a room together.
Still I would be a liar if I didn’t think about putting down roots. As wild as a flower as I am, I long for a pot. A space to call my own, to do with what I please, to paint the walls with all the colors of the wind. But until I win the lottery or marry well, I’m going to have to stick with artistically arranging my collection of salt and pepper shakers.