I've been sleeping on a futon in the dining room for more than a year now. I have a bedroom with a very nice queen-size bed, but it began to feel alien and unwelcoming to me. I didn't like being in there. Eventually I let it fill up with old clothes and junk and then just closed the door. The walls in that room are pink. Maybe if I painted it it would feel more comfortable.
I have a back bedroom that is also full of old clothes, old books and stuff from my mother's house. I think it's pink, too... I don't recall without going back there. But I never go back there, either. I am down to living in my den and dining room, and if I could consolidate that, I could live in just one room.
I obviously have too much stuff. And the amount of personal space I need is shrinking with my sense of self. If there is no self, after all, who is it that needs this space?
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