An ode to rooms past

Ok, I'm trying not to sound like a spoiled tween here, but I miss my own room. Don't get me wrong, I love sharing space with Jonah and building apartment, after apartment, after, nope don't have to built it, it's already done (ever so lovely house he grew up in) with him. There's just something about the solace, the escape from the world, the pink-ness of bedrooms that I created for myself growing up and into my college years. Something about surrounding yourself with objects, colors, blankets etc. that describe and inspire you. I appreciated being able to trash said room in a fit of not knowing what to wear and knowing that no one would discover my temporary bout of insanity. Having a solid home base is crucial in dealing with a crazy world. I feel that my world lately is about moving my laptop from kitchen table to coffee table to den, where I still can't get an internet signal, to back to the kitchen. Moreover, with such frequent moves, I've downsized the very supply of aforementioned objects, fabrics, etc. that describe me materialistically.

I'm having to remind myself now that I don't want to sound like a spoiled 20-something. Downsizing does help moving and there is a healthy aspect to shedding material from the past. Plus, isn't it now in-vogue for affluent couples to have their own rooms? I don't know, I'm not sure that I could get into such formality. But in a break from the recent past, I do long for a solid home base, a place to call my own for, you know, at least a year.