A Road Less Travelled

One thing I realized while Raquel was here is that I am very unused to sharing my space with someone else. There were only a few times that I actually felt invaded, but those few times took me by surprise. I would open my door and my room wouldn’t be what I expected in a way I couldn’t figure out. Sure, the treadmill was made up like a bed, but that was funny. Besides, I hadn’t had enough time to get used to the treadmill in my room before it was a bed. And sure, I’d taken to knocking on my own door before I went in even when I knew Raquel wasn’t in there just to get in the habit. But I normally knock on closed doors; it’s a compulsion. I think what struck me as different and strange every time I opened my door was the smell.

Okay, that sounds bad. I’m not saying Raquel smells bad, you understand. I’m sure on most days she smells nice. I haven’t made it a practice to smell my friends so I’m not an expert on Raquel smells. I do know that she doesn’t smell like me. So, since she’s been spending so much time in my room, my room is starting to smell like her and not like me.

It’s weird to me how important this is to me. I don’t really think about how things smell until they smell good or bad. But there have been times in the past that I’ve felt my space was being invaded and both times it was because my room was starting to smell like someone else. There are certain smells that I associate with good memories and other smells I associate with pleasant places- baking bread, cinnamon, my mother’s smell when she just woke up, campfires, fresh cut grass, coffee brewing. My room doesn’t smell like any of those things; it just smells like me. I guess I smell like home and sanctuary. I should be a scented candle.