Castle

I live in a castle.

I fold a hoodie, black, thick, and beautiful in its simplicity, neatly on the bed, just made.

I listen to music from speakers.  Nice speakers. Not $500 speakers.  But they are nice speakers.  They play the music nicely.

I have a plethora of pens and pencils.  Some are new, and some are old.  I will not be without a highlighter for years, and years, and hopefully years, to come.

I have an eraser.  It is two years old.  It's original size is no longer; but I still have the vast majority of it to use up.

I have a mini stapler.  It is three years old, and just as good as the day I first bought it.

Two pairs of gloves sit on my desk.  I cut loose threads from them with a pair of scissors that are over fifteen years old.  I could have used the newer pair; they're maybe ten years old.  They both cut just fine. 

My mother is my maid.  She does my laundry for me.  She even picked it up from my little cloth laundry box that sits by my door.

My sister is my butler.  She brings my clean clothes upstairs and sets them on my bed.

I have a bookshelf full of books.  There will be more there before the next semester begins.  I ponder opening an Amazon account to sell the books on my shelf I don't need anymore.

Two computers sit at my desk.  My workhorse, my three-year-old, my MacBook, and in the background my idler, my two-month-old, my desktop Dell.  Yes, ironic the laptop is the workhorse.  But I don't trust the Dell to go online. 

I am my mother's maid.  I do the dishes, clear the counter, help cook dinner.  I fold towels, socks, and other garments of such necessity.

We take walks, away from our castle, on weekends and unrainy days.  We pass by others' castles.  Theirs are prettier than ours.  But that's all right.

I live in a castle with running water at my fingertips, a cup brimming with hot tea to drink, a bed to rest my tired body in after long days, and a puppy to play with.  There are clothes - many and many clothes - in my closet to wear.

I do not own heirlooms.  I do not hold priceless finery, large baubles of diamond and sapphire, in my hand.  I do not have a T.V. in my room, I do not possess a two-hundred dollar watch.  I am not the monarch of Fortune 500. 

Nor do I aspire to those things.

I sleep on sheets that have been used nearly every day since they were purchased more than ten years ago.  I don't know how long it's been, exactly.

But I am fortunate.

I am joyful.

I live in a castle.