Every day and night I fall into a deep slumber in the same bed and the same home. For many, this repetitive cycle would make them desire to rip each hair from their scalp. I agree that repetition makes me yearn to set something aflame, but this in particular, is an item of life I do not mind.
At school, I dread having to follow a schedule for 5 days. It only leaves me with 2 days to rest my drained mind. At home, I have the opportunity to mix things up.
Some days I’ll be baking, practicing volleyball and overall being productive, while other days I may just lay on my chalky couch and watch television all day. The way I first described it may have made it sound like a melancholy filled series but in reality, my house holds many of the most blissful moments of my day. I watch the clock, pondering when the last bell will ring. When will I get to access my home once again? When will that blissful moment arrive? Every day I crave my home. It is not a want, it is a need.
I tell my home of all my mystery. Elements of myself one must never know. I do not feel the need to inform it of the pretty little lies I tell others. Even if I did lie to it, it would discover them anyway. My home has seen my tears drip down into my pores and the grins I’ve shared with myself or a large or small community of people. It does not and will not tell of moments I wish to forget nor’ does it tell of moments I wish to keep in my young mind forever. It’s like a metaphorical journal of some sort.
Without this home, I would be out in the brisk weather every day, on the brink of starvation. This home tends to my needs. It distributes cuisines and drinks to myself and the others who reside in this household. It has gifted me with a pleasantly cushioned bed. Despite how much I may wish for my house to also accommodate me with a pool, without my home, I may not be here writing this today.
This home keeps me somewhat sane. Yes, it’s not a full escape from life’s tyranny but it is the closest thing I have to one.