Mom? You might want to look away....

This week's blog challenge is one I came up with and we'll have to see if any of the other lovely ladies on my blog board are brave enough to do the challenge.

It's a challenge to post pics of your bedroom.

As is.

I love my bedroom. I tend to spend a lot of time in my bedroom, mostly sleeping or sitting and listening to music. It's a chill place to be.

Recently, though, it's become a bit of a safety issue as I haven't had any money for laundry or the ambition to pick anything up for about a month.

This is what my bedroom looks like from the hallway. I haven't moved recently and I am not planning on moving in the near future, yet there is a green bin and a garbage bag full of curtains when you first walk in. My media centre (That's what I call the dresser with the thirteen inch television and the printer from 1999 on it) is a little disheveled, and there are cords running everywhere, threatening to take over the room.

This is the view from inside the door. Notice Coperni-Kitty, who has resigned herself to sleeping on the edge of my bed. Notice that she's as far away from my potential sleeping space as is humanly possible: She'll sleep with me if she has no other options, but she makes it clear that she is not here of her own free will. You'll also note the hundred and five year old bed with my duvet on it. The bed: Incredibly sucky and neck-crick inducing. The duvet: Rocks my world.

This is the view from my vantage point on the hundred and five year old bed. You can see the closet, which has no door, exposing all of my clothes to the world, and of course, Coperni-Kitty looking pissed off as usual.





This is the shelf that hangs over my bed, on the naked wall. My dad gave it to me back when I lived in Hell. I finally managed, with the help of my roomie, to get it put up in October. I keep pictures of all that is precious to me up here. As well, I boast my approval of living in a culture where it is acceptable to decorate with giant beer cans.

This is my Ikea bookshelf. Ikea is the devil, and this book shelf is incredibly unstable. On it you can see my prized glass geese that my Grandad gave me, my bubble gum machine that my nephew asks about daily, and my Americana lamp that SuperNan gave me. Oh, and you can see another beer can. This one's not a decoration. It's just there because I'm kinda lazy.

And now for the piece de resistance. Elvis. No bedroom is complete without a wall hanging of Elvis. I hung him myself above the hundred and five year old bed. The problem is that I used a drill bit that was waaaay too big in the cement wall. So, there is a screw connecting Elvis to the wall: it's just placed in the giant hole and by some miracle of gravity, or sonic forces, or something, Elvis stays there. I'm always scared he's going to impale my head with one of his sharp corners one of these nights, but so far, so good.

And so, there you have it. My bedroom. The place where all my dreaming happens. The place where all my junk is stored. The place where my mother will someday walk into, shake her head, and mutter "My God. The child wasn't raised like this and I don't know why she lives like this. My God." (It's actually true. My mother is a neat freak. She could never live like this. And, when I move home in April? I'm not allowed to bring any of this stuff with me or leave any junk on the floor. Times, they are a-changin', and hopefully these are changes I can make in the interest of family peace. And in the interest of not losing small children in my bedroom.)

Toonses