a room of one's own
[A pompous literary allusion, of course, I never having read any Ms Woolf.]
The 2 or 3 people with whom I've been caught sharing confidences all happen to have their own dramas to contend with at the moment (such that if I started talking I might be expected to listen too - which can be a chore *eye roll*). And I dare not risk unloading on anyone I'm trying to romance. So here I am, naturally, bouncing in my safety net.
It came to my attention some weeks ago that my parents are set to rent out a 4th room in their 4-bedroom house. I hadn't had any time to process this news; until it crept up on me early this morning, and kept me awake after just 4 hours' sleep.
The room in question was once mine - or, as much as one could own anything under one's Chn parents' roof. It isn't a room in the strict sense but rather, an open games-area (converted from a former garage) located directly outside the laundry. Since I moved out it's become N's room (except that her bed is still in the master bedroom - another source of tension between myself and parents). I left my (as in, paid for by me) big desk and swivelly chair and bookshelf and TV-DVD-VCR combo and mattress and antique wardrobe behind, in the naive (and misguided, as it turns out) hope that my sister would have some place to hang out and receive guests - including myself. Apart from the lack of door and poor lighting and inferior insulation as compared to the rest of the house, it's pretty nicely decked out. More importantly, after the 3 proper bedrooms were let it's been the only space in that otherwise not unspacious house where N could conceivably enjoy some privacy - privacy which is crucial in her formative years, privacy which I never had growing up and now, by the looks of it, nor will she.
For what it was worth (read: diddly squat) I voiced my disapproval of the proposed arrangement. Unfortunately it was clear from the outset, without anyone having to say a thing, that the only circumstance under which my parents could be persuaded to reconsider would be my moving back in and tendering periodic payments commensurate with their "foregone profits". Which - don't panic - I have no intention of doing.
The result of my selfishness being, come Thursday, the only parts N will get to see of her own home will be the kitchen, the dining area, the corner of her parents' bedroom where she sleeps, and the "living room" which has already been largely obstructed by the imposing hand-carved mahogany lounge suite, the enormous flatscreen TV and her electric piano.
"Furious" is an adjective smacked of overdramatique as far as my feelings are concerned, particularly when these relate to my parents - towards whom I've long mastered the craft of functional detachment under the cover of ostensible devotion. But I am furious. And helpless (which, admittedly, is less unusual).
What I wouldn't give to disengage from my parents' lifestyle choices, to slip into innocuous oblivion the way they did long ago to me. But there's this person that I love and fret about (no more than I need to though, I think), who is completely at the mercy of two people with whom I find it so easy to disagree and so impossible to reason.
Like most people I lived for a long time with my mother and father.
Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are not the only Fruit
The 2 or 3 people with whom I've been caught sharing confidences all happen to have their own dramas to contend with at the moment (such that if I started talking I might be expected to listen too - which can be a chore *eye roll*). And I dare not risk unloading on anyone I'm trying to romance. So here I am, naturally, bouncing in my safety net.
It came to my attention some weeks ago that my parents are set to rent out a 4th room in their 4-bedroom house. I hadn't had any time to process this news; until it crept up on me early this morning, and kept me awake after just 4 hours' sleep.
The room in question was once mine - or, as much as one could own anything under one's Chn parents' roof. It isn't a room in the strict sense but rather, an open games-area (converted from a former garage) located directly outside the laundry. Since I moved out it's become N's room (except that her bed is still in the master bedroom - another source of tension between myself and parents). I left my (as in, paid for by me) big desk and swivelly chair and bookshelf and TV-DVD-VCR combo and mattress and antique wardrobe behind, in the naive (and misguided, as it turns out) hope that my sister would have some place to hang out and receive guests - including myself. Apart from the lack of door and poor lighting and inferior insulation as compared to the rest of the house, it's pretty nicely decked out. More importantly, after the 3 proper bedrooms were let it's been the only space in that otherwise not unspacious house where N could conceivably enjoy some privacy - privacy which is crucial in her formative years, privacy which I never had growing up and now, by the looks of it, nor will she.
For what it was worth (read: diddly squat) I voiced my disapproval of the proposed arrangement. Unfortunately it was clear from the outset, without anyone having to say a thing, that the only circumstance under which my parents could be persuaded to reconsider would be my moving back in and tendering periodic payments commensurate with their "foregone profits". Which - don't panic - I have no intention of doing.
The result of my selfishness being, come Thursday, the only parts N will get to see of her own home will be the kitchen, the dining area, the corner of her parents' bedroom where she sleeps, and the "living room" which has already been largely obstructed by the imposing hand-carved mahogany lounge suite, the enormous flatscreen TV and her electric piano.
"Furious" is an adjective smacked of overdramatique as far as my feelings are concerned, particularly when these relate to my parents - towards whom I've long mastered the craft of functional detachment under the cover of ostensible devotion. But I am furious. And helpless (which, admittedly, is less unusual).
What I wouldn't give to disengage from my parents' lifestyle choices, to slip into innocuous oblivion the way they did long ago to me. But there's this person that I love and fret about (no more than I need to though, I think), who is completely at the mercy of two people with whom I find it so easy to disagree and so impossible to reason.
posted by In2MeC at 5:38 pm
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