It’s All About the Floor Space
The first bedroom I remember was the smallest in our house then, so I always thought of it as small. Having seen some postage-stamp bedrooms since, on the other hand… But the room was small-ish. And then, as now, I wanted all the things, all the choices, all the options, and so it was full. Very full. I’m talking path to the bed and the rest of the floor covered maybe a foot deep, full. I don’t remember how long it was like that. I do remember once throwing a pillow to cover the face of a doll who was face-up and staring at me from a corner I couldn’t reach. That pillow stayed there a long time. After my mom passed, my dad rearranged things, giving himself the smallest bedroom. My brothers, who shared, moved up to the biggest, and I got the middle-sized, more than twice the size of my first room, and the only one with a closet. A huge closet, since some wise person had seen a room with no closet and simply built a wall across one end. Ta-da! But to get that room, I had to move my stuff. All my stuff, including more than a foot of sediment from the past few years. I remember lying across my bed, with a “move this” bag on one side and a garbage bag on the other, and picking up one thing after another. I had to do it, so I did. It took forever. Once…