I had a nice bedroom. Lots of space, hardwood floors, big windows. Now it’s full of junk. Junk junk junk. Okay, so I haven’t lived here really in almost 15 years, minus a few summers during college. I didn’t expect my parents to keep my bedroom as-is. But I also didn’t expect to find two racks of my brother’s T-shirts in my room, either. T-shirts, people, these are just T-shirts!

Next up is the futon. Yes, Miss Monique somehow must sleep on this god-forsaken piece of plywood. Believe me, there’s no pillowtop mattress here. It’s a good thing that when I visit, I come alone, because this futon is like the anti-sex. There’s nothing hot about this, nothing at all. Ugh.

Behold the disturbing artwork. Some of it is from my own grandmother, I’m sad to say. The worst, though, is the weird-ass bonsai tree my brother’s ex painted. A bizarro Alice in Wonderland painting used to be in my room until I complained it gave me nightmares

 

Finally, there’s the computer workstation and assorted junk. No wonder I’m a slob. My entire family are packrats. What is all this shit?

 

I must make a special note of the wallpaper. I picked it out when I was 4. It has been in place since 1978!!! God knows what my mother used to apply it. Looking around, I don’t even see any loose spots. The flowers form patterns. If you’re feeling ill, or perhaps drunk, the patterns can make you dizzy. Children shouldn’t be allowed to pick out wallpaper. I’m just saying.

∗ Posted by Monique on 07.25.2006
∗ Uncategorized