I was working on an exercise for focusing on describing things in detail. I tend to focus on either the action, or the deeper themes when I just write haphazardly. So I was working on my description. Here you go.
The sun shown brightly between the slats in the blinds. I much prefer a completely dark room to sleep in, but the doctor said that I needed some ‘natural light’ during my recovery. Looking out the window, the weather actually seemed pleasant. I don’t usually care much about the outdoors, but some weather just warms your soul.
I opened the blinds, and then the window. The cool breeze rushed in to ruffle my hair and caress my face. It perfectly complemented the feeling of the sun full on my head and neck. The sun might warm the face, but it’s the breeze that touches the soul. It is the breeze that blows sweetly into the depths in each of us… I should stop right there.
I tend to overthink basically everything. I create a large amounts of stress for myself. Sometimes that starts with ascribing special qualities to everyday occurrences. My therapist specifically instructed me to get out of my own head. While I’m recovering, I’m allowed to write. I am only allowed to describe what I see.
I am in my room at home. The walls here are a pale green. It was supposed to be the pale green that reflects into the sky from tropical water during the golden hours just after sunrise and just before sunset. In the right sunshine it kind of looks that way. When lit with incandescent light or when it’s cloudy outside, it tend to look more like the inside of a mental institute. The blinds are imitation wood. I could afford custom blinds. You wouldn’t know that they are imitation at first glance. They hold the rich browns and blacks of coffee and chocolate. They really make the room feel warm and rich.
I haven’t gotten around to replacing the ceiling fan. It sort of ruins the illusion of a tropical getaway. Cheap, white blades on a brushed silver body let just about anyone know that the fan was installed when the house was built. When I wake up in morning, I stare at that fan as it swirls lazily. It reminds me every morning that I haven’t finished personalizing this house. At least the furniture doesn’t look cheap.
I spent good money at an overpriced furniture store to get just the right bedroom set. The wood matches the fake wood on the blinds rather well. It has a little more red in it though. The real wood has a less pronounced grain that the imitation blinds, but the deep reds swirled with the sweet browns just sing on richness. The styling is very masculine. It’s sort of a cross between colonial and mission style furnishings. Everything is very squared of and angular, but there is a flow between the wood grain and the smooth edges that ties the pieces together. The headboard on the king bed echoes the dresser and chest of drawers in a way that seems less like they match and more like they are long-time friends that share characteristics.
The blankets on the bed are another beautiful find. The sheets were ordered in a custom color from a website I found. The shade of green on the sheets is a perfect compliment to the banana leaf pattern that is so expertly dyed into them. I topped it all off with a rich chocolate comforter. I decided to eschew the use of any throw pillows. I didn’t want this room to look like it was designed by a woman, for use by a man.
My bedside table is where the illusion begins to breakdown again. This set didn’t have any tables that went with it. I found some that suit it well enough, but it’s clear that they don’t share the same soul as the larger pieces. Their contents are even less appealing. My lamp is another brushed metal monstrosity. It’s supposed to evoke a retro-futuristic feeling, like it was built in the 1960’s to imagine what it would look like today. Then of course there isn’t a clock radio in the world that looks like it belongs in the tropics. Black plastic with red eyes glaring the time into room. I hate it as much as I’ve hated anything in my short 28 years.
This room is to be my home for the next few months while I recover from my psychotic break. The doctors think that being in a comfortable environment that I designed myself might be more soothing than being stuck in a hospital. I tend to agree with them. Until I see that tropical green on the walls turn sickly and institutional as the clouds begin to cross the sun.