. . . the growing up I mean. It started a while ago, but today (over skype) it got real.
My mom threatened today to turn my room into her craft room.
I guess not coming home for what will be two years gave her a little leverage in the brief, "civilized discussion" that took place, but what will she do with all my stuff? My room is the cleanest room in the house. It's the guest room. My loft is a haven for the weary. I have my own balcony, she can't turn it into a craft room . . . yet. I want to say I'm ok to sleep on the couch first. I want to sleep in my cozy bed (at least) one more time. If my room becomes a craft room, that means I have no place of mine in that house, which means I'm homeless, which means I'm a bum.
Ok, that's a bit over dramatic, but seriously, a craft room? Mom (I know you read this) just gimme a little more time, por favor!
Much love,
Elena
You're making me cry! I don't want to turn your room into a craft room....I'd rather keep your room for you. But every time I go in there, it's so empty, but full of memories...of you...and you're not here. Do you know that all your stuff is still under and on the sink and I still put up only your pink towel on the towel bar? More tears....But, that aside....I(tears are now gone...quicker than I expected), I'd love to have a place to put some things, instead of the dining room table, since my "sewing and craft rec room" downstairs is becoming more and more a figment of my imagination. How about we compromise. Your bed stays, as is. Your furniture stays, as is. I'll just move in a few things around them. IF and WHEN you come home, we'll cross that bridge.
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