enjoyment

I used to refer to myself as a "hedonist" and just do whatever I felt like doing at the moment. Up until yesterday I'd forgotten that. I'd actually forgotten the sole purpose of why I do stuff - because I simply want to. How sad is that? I suppose things stop having meanings when you aren't really happy with your situation. When you feel that there's no end to it and you don't know what to do or how to act to get out of it. I know now though. I can see it.

My apartment is white and fresh and boring. When I studied psychology in high school our teacher told us to imagine that we were in a white room without doors or windows and that we couldn't get out. Then we were supposed to imagine what our reactions would be like. I remember mine clearly. Panic. Afterwards we found out that the room symbolises death. When I think of that white room now I don't panic anymore. Now I'd probably just lie down there and think about stuff. About how to make it more homey. Maybe a splash of colour here and a plant there?
Maybe I'd just do what I did two years ago and paint one wall orange. I was horrified over the result once I'd done it. Don't get me wrong - I like orange a lot, it's such an underestimated colour - but it's well... orange. Now that wall is white. It feels just as wrong. Like an end to something.

There's one wall left to whiten, unless you count the loo. Then the floor needs a touch-up and the rooms need de-personalising. That's gonna be the hardest part. Remove myself from the apartment. Make it more mainstream. All so I can sell it and move. All so I'll finally get away from here. So I can be free and happy and hedonistic once again.