In My Room
There was a Beach Boys tune, called "In My Room", that had so much resonance with a whole generation of teenagers.
In some ways, I'm still that teenager, though I've aged quite a bit in the intervening years. I still need to be "In My Room" sometimes, with the door shut and no one to bother me. I think everyone needs that: a place to go where you feel completely safe and free from interruption, and where you can simply let your mind rest for a while.
I'm alone now: a single woman on her own. I don't mind that. I still have my room, and it's my room, a place for me alone, where I can completely be myself. My whole apartment is "my room", in a manner of speaking. I can't tell you how much I enjoy that. I'm afraid if you knew, you'd think I was antisocial or something, which isn't true. I just like my privacy, a lot!
"In My Room" by the Beach Boys
As you can see, I haven't made a mad success, materially speaking in my years here on earth. Truthfully, I don't care. I have enough. I'm happy and comfortable, for the most part, where I am and with myself. I've accomplished some things that I've wanted to do with my life, and I think, on the whole, I can count myself in as a good person.
I was really struck, when experimenting with a new camera that I had bought, of how very...I don't know, juvenile? shall we say? of the appearance of my bedroom. The rest of the apartment is a lot more grown up, (not expensive, not elegantly furnished, but a lot more grown up!) it seemed to me, but it does seem my bedroom suffers from a case of arrested adolescence.
Well, that spoke volumes, really.
And, it's true.
I've been married, twice. Both relationships failed for a variety of reasons. I can't really say it's all my fault, or the fault of my incomplete adaptation to being an adult in adult relationships, though I'm sure that aspect of my character contributed a lot to both failures.
It has always been difficult for me to share living quarters with my mate. I wonder if other people have this problem? I seem to need my space, my room. I find living with someone else involves a constant, edgy awareness of another person in "my" space.
It should be "our space" and I should gladly share it.
Truthfully, I never quite got that far. It seemed to me that I was always pushed into a corner; that my mate actually owned the flat, townhouse or house we lived in, and that I was a visitor. I never seemed to be able to occupy my own space within our space, comfortably. I never felt completely safe, completely comfortable and free from unwanted interference, unless I was living on my own, by myself, in my room.