The Shelf

As you are most likely not aware, my bedroom has shifted both in location and in layout a few times over the past few months. I use to pride myself on my room's ability to describe me in a single glance. Every inch of the walls was either covered with movie posters, (Transformers, Iron Man, Star Trek, Batman etc.) or what I deemed as my 'Yard Sale Vinyl Collection'. Paintings, Mangas, Postcards...it's really hard to describe, there was also a glow-in-the-dark universe spread out across the various surfaces of the room. It was my haven, though come summer time and my parents separation it was taken from me. I took the whole 'fiasco' particularly well, though the loss of my room seemed almost like a loss of identity. I was thrown into the confined, plain, dull yellow-walled rooms of my grandmother's basement, and even though I'd managed to drag a couple hundred comic books with me, it didn't feel quite the same.

The packing away of my precious belongings was symbolic of me packing away my old life. It was slightly depressing to say the least.

However, by Thanksgiving I was back, but there were serious limitations on the layout of my 'new room'. No posters on the walls, no glow-in-the-dark, and sadly no bed. (I have a mattress though.) I did get to pick the colours, and really, it isn't bad- just a huge change.

I found it when they cleaned out my sister's room. A shelf. Plain, dull, wooden, and dusty. Perfect.

A few hours of painting and carrying it down a flight of stairs later, and BAM!! A nice cozy corner to describe myself at a glance. A smaller version of my own room, completely portable and completely fantastic.

I know this whole rant seems somewhat lame and hard to relate to, but it's just the way I am.

Here is the infamous shelf before:

And here's a more current picture:

Conclusion- sometimes, material possessions do matter. :)

-MegaTron Out.