money and a room of her own

Give her another hundred years, I concluded, reading the last chapter—people’s noses and bare shoulders showed naked against a starry sky, for someone had twitched the curtain in the drawing–room—give her a room of her own and five hundred a year, let her speak her mind and leave out half that she now puts in, and she will write a better book one of these days. She will be a poet, I said…
-Virginia Woolf, “A Room of One’s Own”

Today I am home alone, cleaning the house. I’m not required to, I do it because I like a clean house—and this apartment is paid for with my own money, which I earn enough of because I have got an education (forgetting for a moment about the debt). These are things that I am profoundly grateful for: the weekend, the ability to read and write, a bank account in my own name, a place that is legally mine to live in.

But on a smaller level, in reflections which are insignificant compared to the above paragraph, sometimes I wish…I had my own bedroom. I love K. and I am glad that we have the freedom to live together, and that I am privileged to sleep in the same bed with her every single night. Someday in the future, though, I would like to have a bedroom that I don’t share with anyone. There are times when I miss relaxing by myself in my own space, with a cup of tea, a blanket and a notebook, and knowing I won’t be interrupted at all. That’s a luxury I grew to love in high school (since I shared a room with my sister until 9th grade, and again with other girls in college) and it’s a luxury I’m looking forward to having again. I’ll always have the space within my own mind to myself, but it’s nice to have a physical space as well.

One Response to money and a room of her own

  1. meridith says:

    when I was twelve, my mother declared she was turning the tiny office (a closet really) into “her” room. she said that we each had bedrooms of our own and my father had the garage where his workshop was but that she didn’t have a space. I didn’t realize what an impact this had until I found myself declaring to future boyfriends/girlfriends that I intended to have my own bedroom. you can imagine that went over like a lead balloon. in retrospect, I think my mother had a garden, the kitchen, the sun room. but I know those token alone places weren’t a place to sit and read or sew undisturbed. I don’t have my own room, but I’m not sure I should have one – too much of a loner as it is!

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