She likes many of the items: some are old and perhaps a tiny bit shabby, though quite comfortable; other newer ones are beautifully shiny, and she is still adjusting to their presence. Some are cushioned, some are fragile, and some have unusual angles. Some need regular polishing; others require only an occasional dustcloth. A couple of pieces she has picked out for herself; many others have been inherited or presented as gifts, and she cares for them out of respect and consideration for those who have brought them into the room.
Some days, she despairs at the number of pieces that must be dusted. She wishes she could rearrange the furniture, and perhaps remove a few items. Yet she cannot lift them, and even if she could, she cannot move them without damaging the others. She must work around them. As she tries to navigate the room, she miscalculates and bumps into the corners of even the most familiar of pieces. She feels crowded and bruised. Weary.
She needs wide open spaces. Soon.
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