Decorating paralysis

I could tell you about the
carefully selected wooden thumbtacks
on this desk,
and how I feel proud
and a little happier each time
I see them.
I could tell you how my paperclips
are Beyonce gold instead of boring silver,
so when I fasten a sheaf of papers
I do it with pizzazz.
 
Maybe I'll tell you how the color 
of this desk lamp impacts my mood
more than it should,
and the way each item
on this cork board above me  
was placed there oh-so-most-carefully,
so that when I see one, 
I have an oh-so-most-carefully chosen
emotional response.

I can decorate a nook.
I can almost decorate a tiny apartment.
Maybe that's why I love my little home.
It is not overwhelming.
My mom says all of my furniture is scaled 
like dollhouse furniture, but that's the way I like it.
It suits this wee dwelling,
and it suits me.

The idea of a house, you know, a HOUSE-house,
leaves me stymied.
I walk through yours and wonder at how
you filled so many rooms.
I'm in awe of how many decisions were required.
Are you a witch or a superhero, 
because you, ma'am are wondrous.
Choosing my thumbtacks took me an hour
and two trips to Target.
In a HOUSE-house,
I'd have to create whole entire giant tableaus.
The audacity!

Pause a moment, and riddle me this:
Do you know how big a sectional couch is?
Roughly the size of Delaware.
Do you know how daring and courageous 
it is to choose one and ONLY one 
to put in your house-house?
To face a large empty room, and plunk down
Delaware feels braver than walking
to the snack bar in your bikini at the pool.

And then I'm supposed to what?  
Let people actually see it?
I'm supposed to invite people over and 
and be laid bare like that?  To say, "Yes, I chose this.  
No, it wasn't handed down.
No, it did not come with this house.
Of all the ones I could have selected, this was the one I bought....
It's wrong, isn't it?"
But no one will tell me,
they'll just pat me on the head,
peek in the other rooms,
and realize they're empty,
because the sectional was as far I got.

That gigantic naked sectional,
sitting there, all noisy about itself,
showcasing my ill-equipped design skills.
I'll need 11 people to sit on it and hide it,
before I can relax.
I need it covered with bottoms ASAP.
And then I remember that's the point:  Bottoms.
Aren't bottoms usually the point?
Of anything interesting anyway.

I just want the couch for the bottoms - 
attached to the heads-
attached to the people that I'd want in my house-house.
And maybe that's the point of any home.
And yes, a few people I love would appreciate
the thumbtack selection, 
but even those oddballs can only stand so long
eating their barbecue before their bottoms 
need a rest.

And maybe that's why 
I have to at least try to fill a room, maybe even two, 
so all the bottoms I love will visit and rest.
And realizing this, I have come full circle
once again, remembering 
what I must remember at the end of every circle
of learning:    
It's not about me.