There comes a time in our meandering lives when the activities we pursue become as “world class” as any other or any other’s. We seem to live out our formative years and then begin to reach (or perhaps approach) a life-stage when all of our happenings become part of a set of normal actions that each of us as grown human beings might come across. At this stage, none of these events is better or worse than any other, from the viewpoint of worldly significance.

Payrise. Graduation. Employment. Weekend. Movie. Girlfriend. Travel. Wife. Kids. Mortgage. Car. In-laws. Dog. Christmas.

Life.

At a time not too far removed from the aforementioned world class “initiation”, we also take a step out into a wider world of freedom, responsibility and personal significance. Some would take this for granted, whereas I’ve become keenly aware of the quaint stillness of being “in-between”. Nearly all of my possessions are within ten metres, and most of them are right in this very [bed/study/lounge/media]-room. Oddly enough, this room is taking on another nounal descriptor: holding. Occasionally I feel as if I am being held here, even if only in a self-perpetuated manner, with no other place to venture which doesn’t involve some level of undesirability.

So here I make my home, largely, and await the day of making the same with more than just one room.