Redecorating

I redecorated my room today.

Put new blinds up, reorganized my clothing storage methods, and did a bit of miscellaneous cleaning while playing music on my mother’s phone, even though my own was in the same room.

This was really a second half to that time a few months ago that I moved my bed from its original position and reorganized my book shelves.

Now I am done. It feels fresh.

There’s a reason that redecorating and cleaning feel good, other than the obvious productive mental health boost.

While cleaning, I think of all the power I have to positively manipulate the world around me, by myself. Independently. I think of the concept that when I live on my own, there will be no pressure to clean and instead it will come naturally, like breathing, to upkeep the aesthetic.

While redecorating, I think of the future. Hardly connected, right? And so broad. But my brain goes places.

Yesterday, I was at Bed Bath & Beyond with my mother Diana, my sister Sofia, and her friend Julia. I rolled (wheelchair thing, can’t really say I walked, can I?) around, carrying a piece of paper and a pen with me, writing down all the furniture and supplies I would want. We were there because next year, Sofia and Julia are in college. Dorm room shopping. That got my brain thinking.

When people go shopping for dorm stuff, they always improvise, and most often have these things in mind:

  • Relatively easy to take down and put up
  • Cheap enough so they can afford it, sometimes without having a job yet
  • Fun to design
  • Easy to design
  • Productive
  • Efficient
  • Colorful
  • Artistic

So I thought. Most people don’t do this type of impromptu thinking when they decide what goes in a house, most people plan and try to “smooth out” a lot more than they need to. When I live on my own, I’m going to have a dorm room attitude, with furniture and placing that sticks out, with a large antique gear clock on the wall on one side of a wide hallway, and cute signs telling people where the rooms are, that have the same basic design as those arrow-signs that tell people where cities are and how many miles away they are. I’m going to fill my house with my favorite colors, and store things uniquely, even if its a shower rack holding marker jars next to a window, and I’m going to fill my house with DIY.

And I’m going to name this house the “Zaylee House.”

I have a girlfriend. (I’m not lesbian, I’m not even a girl, I’m agender, asexual-panromantic.) Her name is ****** (asterisk-ized for privacy purposes). My name is Zoe. Zaylee. Maybe it’s because we met through Instagram (via my Hunger Games simulations) and live nowhere near each other, but my mind immediately goes through this recurring fantasy of living in a house with her, possibly to make up for all the lost time, and adopting/”surrogating” kids. (We’re both asexual-panromantic.) We’re teenagers, it’s crazy, I know. But it’s just a fantasy, and that’s what happens when I like someone. I know it’s not real, and it’s unlikely to ever be real, but you can forgive a little romanticism, can’t you? (And by the way, if you’re reading this, ******, it’s not that I want to have – er, raise – kids with you personally – I just want to have kids. I feel I’d be a good parent. No matter who I picture myself with, there are kids in that fantasy. Don’t get creeped out. Please.) But no matter who I’m with, even if I’m alone, that name, the “Zaylee House” is going to stick. It’s a good name.

When redecorating (and decorating), I think of what could be.

I think about how angry I am with myself that I had to pick an editor who travels a lot. And then I remind myself, even though it’s true that I’m working as hard as I can on the book I’m writing, and that I sure wish someone else could be on my same timeline – she’s giving me marked up chapters, that’s a huge part of the process of editing, you see, and has lately been taking a break from it – there’s nothing bad about a little self-reflection, a little self-editing. Besides, my extremely busy editor is a lovely person and I am grateful for her help.

I think about Zaylee House, no matter who I’m with in that house, because I want to live in that spontaneous, creative habitat where everything looks both out of place and exactly where it’s supposed to be. I think about pink and blue fuzzy bean bags and washi tape and clothes-hanger chandeliers and more washi tape and large antique gear clocks.

I think “Hopefully I’ll be able to pay for that as a writer.”

I think about the future.

But mostly, I think about interior design.

Let Me Explain My Stance On The Death Penalty

I am against the death penalty. I am an absolute pacifist. (Look it up.) I have stated both those facts multiple times. You may have begun to wonder why.

Being a pacifist means that I prefer to use methods other than violence to deal with a problem, even if the problem is violent itself. Being an absolute pacifist means not only would I simply prefer to use other methods, but I just…do. No matter what. Put very clearly, without any intellectual jargon, being an absolute pacifist means that if someone wanted to kill me, I would try to talk them out of it before I tried fighting them off. I would use all the intelligence my brain gave me in that moment, I would definitely try to not be killed, I might even punch them, but if I had to kill them, I would back off, even if it meant I would soon die.

But being an absolute pacifist doesn’t actually explain why I do not support the death penalty, I know.

I am against the death penalty because I am an intellectual. I use logic and reason to debunk anger and fear.

The person, who prompted me to write this, who is a dear friend of mine, told me they support the death penalty in part because, referring to the criminal who deserves it, in the very common case of killing someone, “They think they have a right to take lives. So then we have the right to take theirs.”

This represents a very widespread view, so we’ll analyze it.

If “they” think they have a right to take lives, that’s bad, right? There’s a reason there’s a rule against it. Clearly, the idea that you have the right to take someone else’s life is wrong. “They” would be wrong in the assumption that they have that privilege. I bet a dime you agree. (I’d bet a lot more, except on the off-chance you didn’t, I wouldn’t like to lose that much more than a dime.) Yet I’d also bet a dime half of you agree with the person I quoted above.

This is hypocritical. If you recognize a certain behavior as bad, and proceed to deter and stop the bad behavior by doing the bad behavior, yes, that is definitely hypocritical.

I believe the death penalty is cruel and unusual because death is the end. The end of all. The end, the end, the end. You don’t get punished after death, ever. So I’d say that if you’re looking to punish them, you’re doing the incorrect thing. You don’t feel bad, emotionally or physically, after death. Death is the end of consciousness, the end of the nerves. Death shouldn’t be capital punishment, it’s the lowest form of punishment.