I blame it on my childhood. This endless need to move things around, change things up, redecorate, rearrange, recreate.
Growing up, we had built in bedrooms. The beds were built in, the closet, drawers, headboards, bookshelves.... all of it, nailed to the floor or the wall, firmly in place--aint going nowhere nohow.
While it may have kept my sister (with whom I shared a room) and I from stuffing things under the bed, and was supposed to somehow have encouraged us to keep our room clean, all it really did was establish a restlessness in me that has me changing things constantly.
If I didn't have a goofy back and funky shoulders, and the living room was bigger, it would get re-arranged a lot more often. I'd love to paint every year, changing the colors and freshening things up. I'd like to put new curtains up in the bedroom and cover the bed with fresh new blankets and comforters every few months!
It's why I love consignment stores. Change up the wardrobe for every season, circulate! It's why I had to plaster my industrial gray cubical with gerber daisy printed wrapping paper and why that will come down and be replaced in a few months time.
It's why my blog changes in appearance every few weeks. It's why each time I color my hair I go with a slightly different shade than the time before.
Yet for all the switching around I do, my husband can't understand why I firmly insist on 'my side of the bed'. (going on 15 years; my side is the right side)
Hey, somethings you just don't mess with!