Everywhere I sleep I'm constantly thinking about building personal space. In hostels I'm concerned with where my pack is in relation to my head, how far the ceiling is from my body, how much light is entering my bunk. In tents I'm concerned about safety from the elements, how far my shoes are from the door and where my headlamp is located. In space that affords higher capacity for objects, I need jars to hold my trinkets. I need the lighting to disperse correctly in the room. I need a healthy amount of clutter.
If space isn't right I don't feel aligned. Quality sleep doesn't exist. I don't produce well.
I'm unpacking, chucking t-shirts and spatulas over my head into piles for missions and second hand shops. I don't need these things. I don't know what I need anymore, but it's definitely not toasters.
I was interested in the psychological stand point of coming home, but two days in I feel like there's nothing to evaluate.
Just as I did on the other side of the planet, I'm molding. I'm finding structure in space, which is now my childhood room.
Basically I'm living in a time capsule. Memorabilia from my childhood is strewn all over the walls. I'm adding to the collections, integrating my current life into the physical evidence of where I've been. My necklaces hang on the shadow box that showcases my soccer medals.
I'll sleep here until Thursday, and then I'll head to the dessert and sleep there. And yes, my headlamp will be nestled under my pillow.
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