A week or two ago, I realized I needed a new bookcase. I acquire books with disquieting frequency and almost no effort. Heck, I hardly ever buy books these days; people just give ’em to me. I’m a book magnet. (Judging by my relatives on both sides, this is a family trait.)
Yes, it was time for a new bookcase, so I acquired one from Wal-Mart about a week ago. Putting it together was not a particularly fun experience, compelling me to vent my feelings on Twitter:
At last the bookcase joined Marvel’s Avengers in the Things That Have Been Assembled category. I placed the bookcase in my bedroom, which also contains a desk, two chairs, a nightstand, an old chest, some geeky decor, and a ridiculous number of machetes.
One thing my bedroom doesn’t contain is a bed, which is a little ironic if you think about it.
I sleep in a sleeping bag on my bedroom floor. Before that, I slept on an air mattress, which eventually sprung a leak and took on the spongy feeling of a stale marshmallow. (You can understand why I switched.) I haven’t owned a bed since… well, now that I think about it, I’ve never actually owned a bed.
There are reasons for this. Beds are expensive; sleeping bags are cheap. I enjoy the novelty of a bedroom without a bed. (I’m a bit strange, you see.) There is one more reason I haven’t bought a bed, and I’ve been thinking about it lately.
When I settled into my apartment a few years ago, I assumed it wasn’t to stay. My situation was temporary. My job was just a stepping stone to greater and higher things. I had never spent more than a few years in one place, and I assumed my latest situation was as temporary as all the others had been. I didn’t dare buy a bed. What would I do with it when I moved in a year or two?
That was almost three and a half years ago. I haven’t moved. My younger brother now lives with me. (He has a bed.) I have a cat and furniture and houseplants and more bladed weapons than most medieval armies. What I don’t have is clear plans for moving on.
For me, 2013 and 2014 were years of survival. I endured. I slowly, painfully learned the basics of being an independent adult. The year 2015 was one of change. I left my old job, found a new one, cut my hair shorter, grew a beard, and left behind the debris of previous years. As the year ended, I wondered what 2016 would bring.
So far, this year has been one of stability. My life is no longer full of upheaval and unpredictability. My job isn’t bad. My situation has become consistent. After three and a half years of not daring to put down roots or even buy a bed, I’m beginning to wonder whether I’m not here to stay… for another couple of years, at least.
I’m still not buying a bed, though. Beds are expensive, man.