DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,

But home is nowhere

Hi. I am in Sussex, at home, waiting to practise some duets with my mum. Glamorous. I hope you kids are having a good weekend.

My mum has rearranged my bedroom. When I last saw her in London she told me she'd 'moved things a bit' and I rounded on her with "What have you done to my room? What have you done to my room?" I suspect I'm somewhere on the Special Scale; change makes me crazy, especially if it's change of things that have been the same for a long time, or since back when I was happy. She knows that. 'Not very much', she insisted.

The toy cupboard which has been by my bed since I was, what, eleven, is now in the other room; this means my bedside light had nowhere to stand; now it's on the white wicker bedside table that used to be in front of the fireplace. She's taken away my desk to make it easier to get at the window. In front of the fireplace now is some strange (and rather lovely) dressmaker's torso with a corset painted on it; it's hollow, and she's put my masks and fake flowers in it. There's a new mirror (also lovely, just not mine). The bed is in the middle of the wall instead of up against the corner. It's where you put hotel beds. She thinks the room looks much bigger. I honestly don't, actually. The people who came to draughtproof the room had to repaint the walls. Now a) the wind doesn't come through the cracks, because there are no cracks, and b) the paint is new, and not split and faded.

She told me before I went upstairs last night that dad was really worried about it, much more than she was; that he'd said she'd made it into something she wanted without thinking about me. I don't agree with him - she will have thought about what I want, before she discounted it. But he's right.

I know the girl who grew up in this room that's upstairs now, and she's not me. Maybe she's who I would have wanted to be; there's something about that arty corseted thing in front of the mirror filled with masks and the spareness of the rest of the room now everything's been Put Somewhere that suggests the childhood room of a successful theatre person. "Who would live in a house like this?"

I'm not that girl. I'm this one. I failed. I feel sick. I cried myself to sleep. I don't expect you guys to understand. It's only a room, right?


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