My room is currently a reflection of my frantic week. With papers and clothes scattered throughout the floor, I can hardly walk in it. Upon entering, I immediately become frustrated. Why can’t you just make time to clean? I ask myself. I attribute my frozen state of an unwillingness to tidy up to my disconnect with my place. Yes, the room technically belongs to Rachel Carter. However, I do not feel it is truly mine. It is somewhere where I quickly print papers or crash after a long night. Thus, it’s certainly not a place of dwelling. This situation reaffirms that one must choose to make a place full of meaning. You could spend a ton of time somewhere, but still be devoid of feeling about it.
P.S. My word verification is "neater" ... what a coincidence!
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