hexe_____

I wish I had a tiny house by myself, where I can paint the walls red, string up Christmas lights everywhere, put up gauzy curtains, put real paintings and photography on the walls, have tall Tiffany-esque lamps, not have cable and only my dvds, grow flowers and herbs in a tiny garden, cook in my cute little 50s inspired kitchen, drink tea on my plush coffee-house sofa, listen to music really loudly: dance around to Fischerspooner, clean while listening to Handsome Boy Modeling School, relax and read to Jeff Buckley, pretend I'm a rockstar and lip synch to PJ Harvey. It would have hardwood floors with some pretty area rugs here and there. My room would be a little womb, with pretty latterns, a large bed from the 60s-something you'd see in Valley of the Dolls, a big vanity with Christmas lights drapping the mirror, with pictures and cards on the mirror, the vanity cluttered with makeup and perfume and jewelry and knick knacks and cds stacked on one another, the walls would be a light red...not quite pink, but the kind of color you'd get from a piece of watermelon. The bedspread would be a fluffy white comforter, with lots of throw pillows of different shades of green. Framed posters of classic movies and pin up girls would be on my walls. I would have a little boombox in a corner on a cute little stand from goodwill, painted green, but I would also have a record player that would play records from torch singers and fun sixties bands. My bathroom would be orange. Shiny orange walls that look like hard candy. With a huge clawfoot bathtub, and a tiny window that looks out into my tiny garden. Maybe someday...this thought comforts me, as I might be stuck in a living situation I'd rather not be stuck in. I've pretty much moved into my room, as I never leave it anymore except to go to campus and to get the occasional bite to eat.