The summer is almost over, and things have been a little difficult of late. My job search has thus not produced anything, but I have a place to live and food so it isn't a big deal. After one has been living independently but finds it necessary to move back home, there are bound to be certain irritations and frustrations, especially since one's freedom is essentially neutered. Well, maybe not quite, but very nearly so.
One of the most difficult situations for me personally has been having to share a room with my three little sisters...it's about 20x20 feet, so a modest size, but we are a all a bit slobbish. I've often been annoyed with clutter, with clothing everywhere, not being able to just relax and read if I want to, having to share my clothes (which was probably inevitable in the first place regardless of room situation), share my space...my, my, my, mine. Today, though, we watched "The Diary of Anne Frank," and I remembered all I had read about that time period: Bright Candles, The Borrowed House, The Hiding Place, Number the Stars, I Am David, Father Elijah, The Scarlet Pimpernel of the Vatican, and all the others. Who am I to complain about having to share a small messy space with three sisters? Many of those people, most Jewish, shared similarly confined spaces with others in order that they might live one day longer. How much space does a person need anyway.
In the end, we don't need more than a 1.5x6 foot box in death. How much more do we need in life? An entire room? An apartment? A mansion.
My guess is that most of us can get by with much less room than we think.
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