Style of the Dead.

We went to Ikea yesterday. It made me want to Start Over. Ditch the furniture and the books, the art, the rugs.

Have my own space. Pick out things that I like without regard to anyone else's feelings. Since living with my husband, everything is a mix of what we both like. But you know, I just really don't want to find space for his velvet Elvis-impersonator painting.

When my mother died, I kept a bit of her furniture, mostly family pieces. They are absolutely not my taste: Victorian antiquey things like fragile caned chairs. Slowly I've been able to sell them. It's not out of a sense of love for her anymore as it is an obligation to my entire family. They're Family Pieces. No, no one else wants them but I'm not entitled to get rid of them. I keep inheriting the Style of the Dead. It's my mother's taste, her grandmother's taste that reigns around here. Plus now the damned velvet Elvis.

Ah, my very own space. Sounds like heaven.