I have lived in my new place since February and have not yet written anything about it. I suppose it's because I'm not here that often. Since I only have class once a week, I leave for home or go out of state, as I had just recently. This place. I first named it Plum Nelly because it's "plum outta town" and it's a "whoa, nelly." My mom just calls it Nelly. My boyfriend calls it my Awesome Fortress. If I were to go along with his idea I'd go more supermany and call it my Fortress of Solitude. Oh yes, my little studio situation has many names. Anyone who knows me would not be surprised. I'm big on names and naming things, especially inanimate objects. I live in a very nominally constructed world. I mean, if something doesn't have a name, does it really exist? Look around you. Everything you see has a name. Things we forget the name of we quickly replace with another: thingy, thing-a-ma-bob, thing-a-ma-jig, do-dad, etc. This is the same with concepts and ideas, even occurrences. Marital rape didn't exist for a long time because it didn't have a name. Not so long ago, spouses considered sex a duty to be performed, consensual or not, but it wasn't considered rape for a long time. This is merely one example of thousands that exist through nominal construction.
This place, Plum Nelly, is a very interesting place. I feel a little bit like Alice in Wonderland. Things are familiar to me but not at the same time. For instance the bed I sleep in is a king size and while I recognize a bed, I am unfamiliar with all this space. To compensate for this alien experience I sleep on one side, four inches from the edge. And like in Wonderland, there are constantly new surprises and creatures lurking in the shadows, like the nocturnal silverfish (which have been defeated). I hear noises through the walls: muddled television, loud talking, slamming doors, and on two occasions...moans. Awkward. I'd like to say this place is growing on me, but it's not. I feel restless here, like I can't completely relax. My episodes of paranoia occur more frequently here. I keep my shower curtain pulled back and secure all three locks on my door, always. And I'm a little embarrassed to admit I keep a night light on too. I don't trust these walls. I speak quieter on my cell phone and keep mostly silent the rest of the time. I close my door softly when I enter and leave the building, and I park near few to no cars. The neighborhood I live in is very sleepy and quiet so I'm not being street-smart-city-cautious, I'm just downright paranoid.
These walls, with their texture and scuffed paint, hold secrets that are known only by the grand wizard and the few enslaved drones of the hive. Things are going by unseen to the rest of us who reside in this honeycomb. And only the sounds filtering in through the walls are telling the truth.
