Exercise No. 5: "Your favourite/least favourite room"(7 Posts)
Describe a room in your house (or whatever) that is your favourite or your least favourite. Paint a picture with words and have fun.
my favourite room in my house/flat would have to be the living room with its large window which catches the bright sun most of the day seeing the toys all over the floor thinking forget cleaning them there going to be back out in a minuite the plain bare cream walls with only a few pictures on them to remind me material things dont count but seing the pictures of my son and partner makes me realise every morning what does count family
the way i feel the rough carpet under my toes ut still soft enough for your feet to sink through which reminds me that we might not have much but eevrything we got we worked and and the most presios thing i remember when walking into my living room is my family
thats why i love my living room like my family plain but bright every time were together theres always that big window where the sun can always shine through
Oh God!... No contest. It has to be the boys room the absolute worst room in our house by a long shot and has been for about 11yrs. Ever since the eldest turned 3 really and started to collect toys for the over-threes. You know the ones? The toys that come in a multitude of plastic bits that explode from their boxes all over the floor the minute you open them and clog up your hoover for the rest of their childhood, greedily gobbled up the spout along with the odd crispy sock and stray crumpled crisp packets. Frayed and folded Top Trumps and Pokemon cards mix sadly in odd corners their time well past and their mates mostly gone the way of the hoover. Old fossil dust from a field trip to Lyme Regis forms a grey ring on the window sill beneath the boy fingered smeary glass - itself obscured by hurriedly cut-out and blu-tacked newspaper pictures of Johnny Wilkinson.
Its not getting any better. I had hoped maturity would lead to tidiness but now the lego has been replaced by coursework - spreading out over the carpet intertwined with play station leads and inside-out dubiously scented PE kit giving that particular room in the house the gold medal for room least likely to be lingered in.
Im always yelling at them to tidy it up, and reminding them loudly on a Sunday evening that I havent had their school uniforms yet this weekend.
Yes, its definitely the worst room in our house.
But sometimes I get a premonition of my boys as men making their own ways in the world; leaving this childhood living shrine of memories to my unforgiving bleach bucket. And I get a premature pang of nostalgia for the way the boys room used to be.
There is a little room inside my head,
I go there when it's quiet.
When the children are snuggled up in bed,
And long shadows signal twilight.
It's the only space I call my own,
this little room inside my head,
No one else even knows it's there,
The place where my soul gets fed.
Inside the shadowy walls
I wept for the lost years,
the murdered childhood,
the emotional liars,
who stole my essence.
I watched the smiles
die on my childrens' lips
as I lay powerless
to protect them.
but in pieces.
In my well
I waited for drowning
to quietly complete
I was hardly aware of you
as you gathered up
that were me.
You lit a candle,
washed the corners,
for a while.
When you had me solved
your confident hands
everything into place.
You put me back together
in that room
and now at nights
you hold me.
Hold me tightly,
so I can never
Powerful stuff Janstar. You paint there such a very vivid picture in my head.
My kitchen. I hate it, but Id love to love it. I dream of a huge kitchen with an Aga and lots of beautiful cupboards and work surfaces, with the cleanliness of good hygiene, not lack of use. This is not what I have got. Its not that small, but it has too many doors, so theres not enough storage or surface and its always cluttered. Its the room that were going to do when weve got the money to do it properly, which means it has a temporary look: the units arent screwed to the wall and there are no tiles. The cork floor is peeling up in places, theres an icy draft under the back door and the fridge overflow is leaking and I cant seem to unblock it.
It is, of course, the room I spend the most time in: cooking, cleaning, ironing, eating, drinking tea. Its also the room of obligation, where I must make the packed lunches, let my daughter do playdoh, my son, painting. The kitchen represents nearly all the demands and expectations of me as wife and mother. And maybe it also represents how Im measuring up to those tasks. And my dreams for the future.
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