I believe I’ve mentioned on this blog before that I never really settled into my apartment. I put a mattress on the floor, bought the cheapest desk and keyboard I could find, and called it a day.
“Why do anything else when obviously I’ll be back in New York in a jif?” That’s what I used to say. But now I’m going on two and a half years here. So I think it’s time to settle in at least a little.
I’m still not going nuts. I’m still not getting a car or anything. But I’m at least putting up some photos and medals and stuff.
(One of the great things about these super boring holidays with all this mandatory time off work is that I get productive like crazy. I practically lived in the gym, and I kid you not that I lost four pounds this week. It’s also been a great week to get very productive with all this room business.)
Now, on the one hand, I’m enjoying decorating my room because it sort of feels a little more like mine. And I like seeing pictures of people I love on the reg. On the other hand, I hate it. Yes, it feels more like home when it’s “mine,” but do I really want L.A. (gags a little) to feel like home? It’s L.A.!
And I realize that it’s really time to put up or shut up. I can’t keep talking about wanting to go to New York and not going. If I want to go, I need to go. And if I don’t go, I need to just suck it up and deal with my own decisions I’m making in my life.
I was just so sure that I was going to be accepted to a program or a festival or something that would force me to get out of here… But I haven’t been… yet. I even put in an application for housing in a special artist building. If you work in the performing arts, you get a crazy deal on rent. But alas, I did not get picked in the building’s lottery.
Basically, all signs are pointing to “don’t go.” I’m not a humongous believer in fate. I do think that we have a whole lot of control on our own destinies. But I also think that sometimes things happen that are outside of our control and it’s possible that maybe they are “fated” a bit.
Of course, maybe that fate is still built upon our own decisions (such as my decision to move out here in the first place). The point is, I’m not in New York. I have a life in Los Angeles. And I’m decorating my room.
And that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. So I have a few pictures up? So what? It’ll take me an extra 5 minutes to pack up my room than it would’ve before? I can still just as easily get out of dodge. People put pictures and plaques and stuff up in offices of our temporary freelance jobs. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with making temporary places feel like home.
(Also, in Criminal Minds, every time they go into someone’s room and it has no photos, immediately, they’re all “what a loner, blah blah blah.” And if the person has tons of fun photos, they’re all, “Oh, this person was so fun and well-liked.” And of course if I get murdered, I want the investigators to think I’m super fun and popular.)
So, there you have it. I’m conflicted about the act of decorating my room. But I’m doing it anyway. Tomorrow, I’m gonna talk about being conflicted with the decorations themselves.