Minimalist.

That title up there? Doesn’t describe me. I try. I really do. At least, I’d like to think I do.

I’d love my house, my apartment, my room to look this simple. This elegant. This…refined. But I can’t. I simply own too many things. And, as much as I keep telling myself to get rid of stuff, clean it all up, and transform my life into the clean and polished thing I aspire to, it just doesn’t fit who I am. I’m the girl who loves to be prepared for anything. Living in a dorm many miles away from home, it means I have everything I’ll ever need, right here. I have band-aids, paint, baking supplies, bubble wrap, extra sheets, lightbulbs, and three different kinds of tape. I’ve got receipts, medical records, instruction booklets, old school notes, textbooks. Hats, scarves, t-shirts, towels, shoes, ice skates, pajamas. I even have a few plants.

Because at one point or another, I need them for something. And I can’t just go home and get them. This is my home. I live here. Having what I need makes me comfy, even if it also drives me out of my mind sometimes.

Ikea can keep their elegant, simple rooms. I’ll keep my band-aids.

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