Saturday, April 22, 2006

My secret place

An ancient blog post under Writing.
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A few years ago I kept a large cardboard box in my room. The cardboard box was massive, having been used to transport a tumble dryer circa 2002. In this cardboard box I placed a small stool and a blanket, and I would sometimes climb into the box, close the lid and relax in the darkness, sitting on that stool with that blanket around me.

Now why did I do that?

Some readers might call it a regression to the womb; like the foetal position, but not quite. Others would say I was drawn to the security and the closeness, but I’m more inclined to just say that it felt comfortable: do you know how warm cardboard is on a cold winter’s day?

There was a kind of privacy about it; this was my box. No one else is crazy enough to sit — to choose to sit — in a big cardboard box for minutes at a time when there are better and comfier places like the bed or couch. It could have just been one secret place among the many secret places in the city, and in the end it wouldn’t really have made a difference if I was sitting blanketed in a cardboard box or a sewer outflow or an abandoned shed slowly falling apart beside a busy road. The isolation would have been the same.

That's all there is, there isn't any more.
© Desi Quintans, 2002 – 2016.