home

Someone to run with

Today we went out for hours to many places looking at furniture and lights. I got a stained glass purple and blue mosaic hanging ceiling lamp from a man called john and a simple black chandelier (though this word makes it sound grand and pompous) from ikea where we measured bookcases and stood in front of wardrobes feeling sad. (Also saw a punk in a carpark with a mohawk and many piercings, cleaning out his car) This whole idea of a HOME...is so elusive and yet is something everyone has a warm image of inside. A place where you can just be. Maybe the only place in the world you can just be. And it's easy to get so worked up about what is going to be in it and where because that is what makes it your world and the world you are imagining inside and you just want it to look like what you are dreaming of, when actually, all you are yearning for is a peaceful and free feeling, and not exactly the furniture. Maybe it's like how everyone wants to be loved and how, quoting a book, 'Even your yearning for sex is really a dyslexic search for love'. I don't know how all this might explain itself but maybe that's why it makes me sad that no one in my family has any faith in me or my room and almost all think it will look awful and have no bloody fudging theme.