I’ve been spending the last week or so in “pack ALL the things!” mode. As a result, my bedroom looks very bare now. It already has the feeling that barely used rooms have.
The funniest thing about this is that it was harder to leave the room I used to have–right next door to this one–when I moved the first time. Then it literally hurt to leave, and the day I walked out with my bags packed, I felt grief. Not at leaving (I was relieved to be getting away from the madhouse), but at leaving that room, which had been mine since we moved into this house.
Right now I sleep in the room that used to belong to the Bestower of Righteous Silliness, and it doesn’t make me feel grief at the thought of leaving it. It’s always felt temporary to me, and because it felt that way, I didn’t bother to decorate it beyond putting up new calendars every year. I had things sitting around as you do, books and things, but nothing that screamed possession. This room doesn’t feel like mine–though I’ve used the correct possessive pronouns since I moved back.
The other room, the one that was mine until I moved, does still feel like mine, though other people have been in possession of it since I came back (Colonel Crazy had the room when I returned, which is why I didn’t take it back, and since the parental units are in the process of losing the house, moving back into it once it was empty was a waste of time).
I walk in there, and I feel comfortable (though I was sure to deactivate all my protective wards before I left it). I feel good and happy there. In this room I feel like a guest.
I wonder if there’s a way to have a “home” feeling no matter where you go?