Dad's "Room"

My father has several spaces to call his own. He has his bedroom, he has his office, he has his bedroom at the group home where he sleeps four days a week and he has his car no matter which particular one he has that day it is guaranteed to be "his". Along with these rooms he has "closets". He has his trunk or the bed of the truck, he has his double door closet at home, he has his closet at the group home and then he has his closet at work which is actually the coat closet. He has claimed all these spaces and uses them well. I think a room defines your character.

When I was younger and would visit my father at work I remember having to strategically maneuver my body around mounds of paper and filing cabinets just to sit down in his chair. And forget about trying to find the keyboard and the mouse to pull up solitaire. And it is still this way and always will be. And I like it this way, because this is the way I work. It is organized in a way only he understands which is how I do it. "Organized chaos" someone once described the mess I had on the floor.

Merriweather

and I cannot fight the fact that I am my father's daughter. We make everything our own, he bring in our shit and it just throws up every which way. You can tell who we are and probably a few things about us