My room depresses me. I came to that realisation a while ago - I'm not happy being here for too long, and with a month long vuvuzela concert going on downstairs from the television, I haven't got much choice. Friends live too far away or are working. Those that live close aren't always bothered. I don't have too many friends that are close, geographically.
I could lie and tell you that I don't know why my room depresses me. I do know. It's not because it's too small (being the box room, and therefore bigger only than the downstairs toilet, possibly the bathroom upstairs, and the hot press). I think it's because it lacks atmosphere, feeling... I fill the wall of the wardrobe beside my desk with post-its - favourite photo files, a video idea, info on a competition or two, my evil Rastafarian drawing - and a couple of things like my 10 Steps to Writing a Poem! and a printed picture of The Phil Collins Dedicated Superness Award-Winning Ecclesiastic Team That is not Endorsed by Phil Collins. That's it. Aside from what's on the shelves, that's all there is. And my shelves aren't heavy enough for much to go on them.
The only colour in the room comes from the things on the shelves, the spines of the books on the book shelf stuffed away in the corner, the three posters on the back of my door, and my Family Guy calendar. That's it. That's all the colour. The walls are "creme brulee" in colour, the wardrobe, bookshelf and desk white, the bedsheets entirely neutral. My room lacks colour.
I could look out the window, yes. It's right there, on top of me. But what good would that do? Most of the day that'd mean looking like a strange person, staring at the neighbourhood kids (they have laws against that, don't that?) or passers-by, or at the houses across the road. I live in a suburban area - there are no green fields, lakes or other such inspirational, or at least tranquil, views.
I need to fix this. I'm not an idiot - I spend a lot of my time in my bedroom, because I have to arrange to go out with people. The whole summer will be like this, and the rest of the time I spend living here. I'll be depressed every time I go up the stairs, unless I'm too tired to care, or too excited about something to write, or someone to talk to. But put me in here alone, with nothing to do, and my mood goes way down. Many mornings I wake up in a downer, now, because of the room, the loneliness of the summer, how much I miss my friends, how little there is to do, and occasionally a bad dream.
All in my bedroom. I have to get out of here. I know I do. Not to move into another room. No, I need to get out of the house altogether. Not forever. Not even for a period as long as a year. I just need a morning where I don't wake up here. I need to get away on a holiday I can't afford. And I need someone else to come with me, or it's not much of a holiday.
But then, most of the people I'd want to come with me are broke. The rest are working too much and too often. There is literally no way out. No nights out, either. Nothing, but nothing, but the bedroom blues...in baige.