The Need to Nest

I've become so obsessed with scented candles recently that I have even started looking for them online. This is obviously a ludicrous idea because no one has yet invented scent-transferrable computer screens, although I'm sure it won't be long until they do. I've also had the urge to buy vases, throws, rugs, prints and photo frames, and I've convinced my parents that I need to redecorate my entire room with white walls. I've always loved interior design and trinkets, and hardly anyone is averse to a good smelly candle, but recently I've noticed an irrepressible urge to create my own space. The only way I can describe it is the need to nest. 

Perhaps it's a girl thing. I am in my prime for breeding according to science (though I'm afraid I'm going to have to let Mr Science down on that one) so maybe it's just biological that I want to make house. Maybe it is a vocational calling to retrain as an interior designer. I think not, although I will blow my own trumpet and say I would be very good. No, I think it's a frustration at STILL living at home. This need to nest (shall we call it N2N? Joking) is my body reacting physically to social convention. It's telling me that I should be in my own space and be sticking and pinning as much to the walls as possible while burning a whole chapel of scented candles, with flowers dying in beautiful vases all over the shop. This nesting syndrome I've developed is in fact a contrary urge to leave the parental nest, spread my wings and fly. 

I also think it's a complete need to re-identify one's self, rebrand if you will. Perhaps it's a need to just find an altogether separate and new entity from the ones I've known before. In this state of limbo, I think this urgency is part of the wish to find a concrete lifestyle that is all my own. My parents' style, which I love and is 'home', is a sort of colourful, bohemian, organised chaos or cosy clutter, slash very dated because it's very expensive to do up a kitchen. Hence why most images I pin on my Pinterest 'Interiors' board are of whitewashed walls, duck egg blues and lime greens. They scream fresh and new and not 1 Park Road, Haslemere, Surrey. White walls are a beginning that you have to fill strategically to complete the picture. A bit like how I would like my life to start panning out. Although, I have gotten very comfortable back here at home and although I always suggest clearing the landing of its excess piles of curtain material and sleeping bags, I'm no good at decluttering my own room. My Christmas presents are still in a little heap by my bed and it's well past the stage of 'admiring' them. 
So here's to a clean slate, white washed walls, and welcome decorations in my dream house. And here's to that metaphor's equivalent in my real-life. Without the cringe.