As I grow older each year I become more convinced I could live alone. I would only need: space, a selection of movies I enjoy, books, pictures, light, a camera, privacy, some room for creative thought, noodles, tea, clothing, laundry service, the internet, my toothbrush, a good conditioner, things to do here and there, fresh air, definitely a heating system, my phone, a water kettle. The water kettle is a must. Sunglasses. Stationery, to write letters to friends afar. Mirrors. Shower shoes, because showering barefoot is strange. Lotion for dry skin. I also like candles a lot; it's a shame they're a fire hazard. Good smells are nice too.
I have all those things in my room already. In the past two quarters I've made myself a home here, filled it up with all the things I need and enjoy and love, built myself a nest of comfort. Maybe that's why I like staying here so much. Being called out to the real world almost seems like a distraction from what really matters, which is kind of frightening, I guess. A few hours ago I realized I had to go downstairs to pick up the mail, and experienced a suffocating sensation at the prospect of having to leave the room.
Guichanaso.
