My Room

My room feels like it belongs to someone else.

This room belongs to someone who died, and I'm just living in it before the deceased's family clears things out.

I always feel that someone or something has been in my room whenever I return to it. It doesn't feel like it's been searched or cleaned, just as if someone had been living in my room while I wasn't living in it.

I watched Blade Runner today, and I have to say it was pretty damn fantastic. My favorite part, which is likely to be anyone's favorite, is the dialogue. "It's too bad she won't live. But then again, who does?" "Nothing the god of biomechanics wouldn't let you in heaven for." And Roy's death speech/soliloquy.

I read Kafka's The Metamorphosis. How someone can undergo a personally catastrophic event out of their control, and how it inevitably effects the people around said person. Sounds familiar.

I also made a collage, using Gustave Dore sketches and the first several pages of a book compressed into 7 pt font. Public domain ftw.

Even though this happened, I still feel I wasted a day. This room is more like a cell.