room 5

My dorm room has been my home for a while now, and I feel completely comfortable calling it that.  It feels completely natural.  I love my room and how it looks-it’s very me.  My suite has become home for the sixteen of us, a very dysfunctional but wonderful family; a group of people who I both love and want to strangle at times. 

But recently, a girl in some of my classes came over for help on an essay.  I invited her up to my room, because having a single room means less distraction…or so I thought.  Rather, she complained about how my room was a distraction to her.  Already annoyed by previous events in the day, I offered to move us over to the suite’s study room.  There she complained about the lack of tables and chairs, because they were stacked into a pyramid.  We sat on the floor and I bit my tounge.  When she finally left, I breathed a sigh of relief. 

I was rather offended when she ragged on my room, because my room is mine.  I love my room.  The walls are grey and it looked a little like a prison cell when I first moved in, or, for those reading whom I went to high school with, a teacher’s office in the new school.  The floors are a darker grey tile and FREEZING cold if you step on them in the morning.  There’s a closet, desk, dresser and bed.  I made a collage on the wall next to my bed, it’s among my favorite things in my room.  Made up of letters from home, pictures of my friends and family, and writings from various news magazines about feminism.  Above the head of my bed I hung my whiteboard.  It has important messages, like combinations to things and reminders about history club and to go to the library.  It’s also where my friends write little messages when they’re over.  I get a small reminder that Amanda <3’s me, and I feel a little better.  

My windowsill is home to picture frames depicting my best friends and I at parties and as superheros.  There’s my favorite picture of Emma, looking up at a bubble with the most innocent and amazed face.  My silver Kanyes’ and an empty bottle of Pumpkin Juice add to the decor.  My desk is a constant mess, covered in weeks worth of Newsweeks and Times, which eventually I’ll sit down and read.  That’s one thing I dislike about college–I feel so very out of the loop when it comes to the news, and I hate that feeling.  But anyway, back to the desk.  It has a lot of books on it; my textbooks sit in a pile at the end of my desk, my reference books and a few DVDs from home sit behind my laptop.  My printers sit on the small shelve above my desk along with my change jar and my statue of Dobby holding up a sock.  There are more Emma pictures.  And post it notes.  Lots and lots of post its.  My multi-colored stickies have my favorite song lyrics written on them in different designs.  They’re all posted around my desk to keep the space cheery and a little less black and white.  

Next to my desk is my dresser, which contains most of my clothing.  On top are things like hair gel, contact solution, and various other similar items.  My camera’s over there, along with the Butterbeer glass from Wizarding World and a small plastic giraffe.   More pictures; my gift from Alyssa of us, Kate and Ally from my New Years party and one from Natalie’s graduation party during the foam cannon madness.  My second dresser is a plastic white thing that my mom insisted on buying.  It has towels and stuff in it.  It’s home to my evil hairdryer, which smokes whenever I try using it.  On top are, as usual, picture frames, along with the books I got out of the library yesterday for my history essay and my research paper. 

This wall is home to a hodge-podge of posters, my favorite being the Rosie the Riviter one posted over my desk.  My calendar, filled with events, is nearby my door.  My mirror is carefully attached to the door, not wanting to end up like the first one, which shattered on my second day here.  There’s a light next to the closet, but it sucks.  My mini-fridge and microwave are underneath.  My closet has my nicer clothes in it, along with random things like my band uniform, my graduation gown, and my jazz band gown.  My massive supply of food is on top, along with my Harry Potter books and my laundry stuff.  The basket sits next to the closet, partly hidden by my bed and the red ottoman that hides my binders when they aren’t in use.  My massive, overflowing bag of yarn normally sits tipped over on the black shag carpet, and several half finished scarves float around the different corners of the room.

My room is my home, I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Except the temperature.  That can be raised twenty degrees.