That space is a smaller bedroom -- as it doesn't have to do double-duty as a living room, like my former studio did -- with a smaller window. As opposed to windows, plural, along the studio's south wall. And this room's curtains are thicker than the blinds I used to have. It can be darker. The walls are closer in. Not much space between my nightstand to my left and the dresser a little more to the left, but enough space. To my right, relatively close, the door to the closet. Around me, furnishings, plus some boxes still; I can take a while to settle in anywhere.
Here I've slept for almost two months now. And I'm still settling in. The senses are getting familiar with what's around.
That wasn't always the case the first few weeks. Stuff from the closet looked, when I'd leave it open for the night, wrong. Like I was expecting movement in there and concocting it when none happened. It's dark enough in there to be void-like, dark enough to seem like there's enough room for things to move. I found myself far more settled at night if I closed the closet door. Good. Better. Though I then needed a bit of time to get used to the sliver of weak light from past the curtain that signaled light from the house next door, and the same sliver, then stronger, once it was morning.
There are enough holes in my sensory input for the room to seem to change shape. But -- I appreciate saying this -- the holes seem, seem, to be shrinking. Fewer phantoms. And whatever phantoms there have been have seemed fairly benign.
(Oh cramp, watch this be preface to having a really bad dream tonight. Heh.)
May we all find comfort when drowsing off, sheet-covered.