They Say The Walls Are Made Of Cream

As I write this, nearly everything in my room has been packed into boxes as Dad prepares to redecorate it. The colour charts have been fully browsed and any noise made echoes with the lack of anything to absorb the sound. The room is barren, but for a good reason, because within weeks it will have attained an entirely new personality and perhaps a new charm as well. Nails will hold together new shelves, and some new bedside drawers will bear the weight of a new lamp and clock radio. It’s important that any bedroom is a safe haven for any occupant, and therefore it must be tailored to match as many personal tastes as possible. I intend to supervise the entire process as best I can, but I still wonder if it’ll still leave a little to be desired for one reason in particular.

I remember hearing recently that one of Louis’ friends has described our house as “the cream house”, cream being the colour of virtually all of our walls. To be honest, I’m so used to it that I’d stopped noticing the pattern myself, and I didn’t realise that it was noticeable among other people either. That’s what inspired the title of this blog post – it’s almost like the creamy blandness of our interior designs will one day become legendary if enough people recognise it. Whilst it may unmistakably seem like I completely disapprove of the colour scheme because of its lack of personality, it would be unfair not to point out its benefits according to Dad. He says that a bright colour, be it cream or the orange of Louis’ feature wall, lifts the light in any room, and in my case he insisted that it will help me when I want to read. He does have a perfectly valid point, even if I do still struggle to believe that a slightly darker colour will totally plunge me into darkness. Happily, I know that no matter what is done to my bedroom there will be one crucial thing that will remain unchanged.

My bed slots snugly into the far-left corner. It exemplifies what I love best about my room, because that corner is a microcosm. A hideaway within a hideaway. As a disabled person who perhaps doesn’t venture outside as much as he would like because he always wonders what to do there, my room carries double the importance. My keyboard is there, along with my books, notebooks, magazines and record player – so therefore it is a large source of stimulation whenever I don’t feel that the great outdoors can offer me anything. In the aforementioned corner there is more than just a space to lay my head. There’s a space to mull things over, and not just in the traditional lying-awake-at-night-worrying-about-things sense. Some of the ideas I’m most pleased with have come from there in the dead of night. We can feel snug in any bed, but mine is in a bubble where creativity and surrealism roam free, where I really feel like I’m taking time out away from everyone else – even if they’re in the room with me. That’s why, regardless of what happens to the room, the bed is staying put, away from the cream washout!

Mason

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