My mother has decided we can wait till my room has been painted to put my furniture back in here. Granted, it hasn't been painted in the 17 years since it got a lick of light grey undercoat, but oh well. I like light grey undercoat, but apparently, after 17 years, it must be "under"
In retaliation, I have chosen a slightly darker shade of grey as my paint choice. I've also decided, in lieu of sleeping in yet another bed I don't like, to bring in my swag.
And my flop chair. And a powerboard, for the essentials. Mum hid the router behind the curtain, for reasons that aren't immediately apparent.
As far as a quarter life rebellion goes, it's not much. I still don't have a sewing machine either, which is especially annoying considering I'm filled with a near overwhelming urge to get the two part-done bags finished, and start on a third (which I will need to find the fabric for - it being in a tub somewhere) but at midnight on a Sunday night, after a busy 9 hour day, it's the best I can muster.
Viva la Revolución? No thanks, I want my real bed back.