When I walk in the door of my room 101…
Well, here we come across the first stumbling-block – literally – as I actually couldn’t walk in the door. The room would be cram packed full. Climbing in might be more accurate. Climbing over fragile, delicate, sentimental value items in such a manner that I just can’t avoid irreparably crushing a few to smithereens.
And then the door would be locked behind me… not that I wouldn’t have been expecting that, but it would be locked just 10 seconds too soon. Before I’d had that last lingering longing breath of the outside world, before I’d turned to wave goodbye to my last remaining human contact, before I’d taken off my coat and hung it neatly on the hook outside, before I’d brushed my hair, before I’d blown my nose, before I’d finished swallowing my cup of half-cold tea.
Just too soon… And knowing I wasn’t getting out again…
Now, it may sound like cheating for me to say I have sentimental-value items in my room 101, but, in fact, this is the very basis of just how horribly awful my room would become. I envisage the majority of stuff in the room to actually be stuff that I like. But too much of it, and too great an intensity of it, and too mundanely samey-samey versions of it.
There’s a packet of something chocolate-y all spilled out over my favourite furry blanket: all meltingly fluffy. My comfortingly cuddly favourite jumper is unwashed and crumpled beneath a pile of dust. The jug of deliciously tempting cream has a not-quite-dead spider licking the surface of the cream.
Everything is completely and utterly untidy and disorganised. And there is hardly room for me to reach out and pick something up, never mind actually *do* anything with any of the stuff that is around me. Like being in a straight-jacket, just without the jacket bit.
Really, the worst thing about walking into this room is just how much I think I ‘love’ everything in it… but knowing before I’ve even spent 10 seconds in there, that the whole lot is just ‘things’ – inanimate objects of no true emotional value.
Ok, some may be gifts from friends… But what are memories of friends and loved ones when you are imprisoned in a room not knowing when – if ever – you will get to see them again in your life. It would torture me.
And no matter how fun something may appear for a while, it still becomes tedious over time. My favourite griddlers become sickeningly dizzying after spending a few hours of a holiday-day on them. It is all so pointless, so meaningless…
Even ‘work’ would not have any merit if I was not given the means to get any information outside my little box. Any kind of useful task that self-sacrificingly I could consider may be for the good of humanity so that my time imprisoned is not wasted would be worthless. I could cure HIV, figure out a solution to third world debt, find a peaceful solution to terrorism, eliminate the curse of mental illness… And it would all count for nothing if it went to the grave with me.
Ps: of course, the one thing that couldn’t appear in my Room 101 would be a Bible. If it did, I hope it would preserve my sanity, and all the rest would just fade into insignificance. But then, that’s a whole other world! 😀