Day 27 – Your favorite place
I thought long and hard on this one. (So long and hard it took me over a week to end up sitting down to talk about it.) I have loved a lot of places.
I love the beaches in St. Petersburg Beach, Florida. It's along the Gulf, so the water is warmer than the Pacific, and so blue. The sand is hot and white and soft.
I love the streets of New York City. The hustle and bustle and people headed every which way at every time of day. I love the smell of the horses outside of Central Park. I long to go to John Lennon's memorial, and to just sit.
I love my parent's dinning room table, the conversation and the laughs. Drinking champagne on Christmas, drinking a can of Bud Light on Sunday dinner night. Laughing until we're crying.
I love my living room. My couch is big enough for two people to stretch out on, to lay down side by side, or straddling each other (this is one of the things I miss most about B, laying on the couch on his stomach, watching television.) It's a great place to sleep, to cuddle up next to Aiden and read books, to play video games. I love eating macaroni and cheese sitting on the red carpet, watching cartoons.
There are all places I love, but my favorite place in this entire world would have to be my bedroom. My bed is big, and soft, and consuming. I have blackout curtains over the windows so it's always the right level of dark when the lights are turned off. My computer is there. My television. A bookshelf with some of my favorite books. My treadmill (which I hate and would LOVE to be able to replace.) I love my stacks of magazines, and my two body pillows. I am in love with my splurge for a down comforter last spring, which has managed to keep me cool all through the summer, and warm and toasty through the cold winter. I have a heating pad, and a shelf of movies.
A very large poster of Van Gogh's Starry Night hangs above the bed. On the other wall is a Johnny Depp Rolling Stone cover poster. On yet another wall is a poster of Johnny Depp in a bathtub scene from the movie From Hell. There is a framed photo of Taylor Hanson running his fingers through his hair from the last concert I went to, taken by my friend D, and on it, it says "find the spark inside and let it burn." I have a True Blood calendar that I record my weight and workout activities.
In my room, I am safe. I am me. No one is standing there telling me who I need to be, who I should be. No one is telling me how to act, or how to feel, or how to be. My son is comfortable crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night if he can't sleep. It is a place we lay and tell stories early Sunday mornings, and it's where I fell in love with B. It's also where I was able to realize that I can still love him without being with him. It's where I hold most of my phone conversations, where I paint my toenails.
Even if it's not THIS bedroom in THIS apartment. It's still MY bedroom. Where I feel the most at home.
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