My Crappy Dorm Room

I'm moving out of my crappy dorm room tomorrow, and then I'll be back in my home town for a few months. I'm going to wake up in the morning, file paperwork with Human Resources, take a final exam, ferry boxes and bags into a car which will drive to the storage locker place, ferry the boxes and bags into the storage locker, drive the car back to my crappy dorm room, ferry more boxes and bags into the car, drive the car back home to my parents' house, and then I'm going to fall asleep, surrounded by unpacked things which I can only imagine will be resentful of their cardboard trappings and will probably haunt me in my nightmares. I'm really looking forward to it.

The truth is that I've come to love my crappy dorm room. One time, me and my roommate saw a fawn walking by a meter from our window. My walls were covered in postcards from people important to me. We filled the room up with lamps so we never had to turn on the ugly florescent overhead light. Yes, we did briefly have an ant infestation-- but hey, it could have been wasps like last year. And yes, I did rip four layers of paint off the bathroom wall trying to get a safety hook down, but that's nothing that I can't argue was there when we moved in. I did homework at this desk for nine months! I ate grocery store cake on this floor! Hell, we bought our own broom and dustpan for this room. College students choosing to spend money on a broom, will wonders never cease?

And man, we were meticulous when we moved in. We chose the room closest to the laundry room and kitchen, with a little crate to transport our dishes and Trader Joe's meals. My roommate found a shelf for the bathroom, I took some drawers that were rotting on our friends' porch. We used my dad's rubber mallet to adjust the heights of our beds, so we could put Ikea storage units underneath them for scarves and craft supplies and way too many books. Now my side of the room is the same as it looked in September, sans my backpack and pillow. The wall has zero postcards. Boxes and bags are piled up in front of my empty closet. It's sad. I'm sad.

Tomorrow I'm going to condense this room into what fits in the trunk of a car. Then, I'm going to see my parents for the first time in weeks. After that, I'm going to go to the library and make copies my resume and wander around the mall giving it to places. I'm going to see my friends and go to plays and dances with them. I'm going to go to the beach. I'm going to go to my childhood bedroom and sleep there for a while, and probably miss this place, yes, even if it wasn't all that great. A bedroom has a special way of cradling you.

Comments

The Patio

Where gray polyvinyl chloride meets Drying strands of grass, like wheat Which makes no grain, only waves In sunlit breezes through the day. Chairs older than my oldest tooth Wear metal grating wound with roots From ivys which do not know poison, Only sweet tea, coffees, the noise one Makes when they step into the morning After a night full of dreams like warnings. The wind chimes snake-rattle, the mint leaves Attempt infinity, bound in a pot that won't keep. And the sun loves me here. He sings To the top of my head, and makes me king.

Buying Dinner

On a day when classes were driving me and my friend crazy, we accidentally spent an entire day together. After doing a little homework, watching in inadvisable amount of TV, and going on a hike, we decided to hop on a bus and go to the fancy neighborhood. On the way, we called another friend and decided to all meet up later, to eat dinner and watch the next episode of X-Men '97. I love adventures. This adventure was cozy and non-threatening, which is even better. The fancy neighborhood is a little downtown area in the historical district. We joked that we felt European, because the roads are cobblestone and street-lights were wrought-iron. Vines were climbing up buildings in a cute way, not a dilapidated one-- we were living it up! Fancy neighborhood is also home to one of my favorite stores, a suitably fancy vinegar and oil store. I like going there and asking for lots of samples and not buying anything, so I convinced my friend to go with me. As we should have expect...

Bumping into Strangers

I have a special laugh that I only use when I almost run into a stranger. Usually this happens when I am distractedly leaving a room-- today it was as I left the restroom to go study, because I was thinking about Mr. Rogers and his not-so-secret 143 code. Anyway I love bumping into strangers because it is the perfect everyday amount of embarrassing. I will laugh my bumping-into-strangers-laugh, she will smile awkwardly, I will apologize, and we both go on our ways. I also love bumping into strangers because it requires that we both stop and make brief eye contact and notice something about each other. Today my stranger had long black hair and smiled mostly without involving her teeth. I would never have noticed this about her if I hadn't almost run her over. I'm trying to invite embarrassment into my life more. Living passionately necessitates humiliation, so I am performing at open-mic nights and making brutal small talk with people whom I've got nothing in common with. ...

Every Day a Love Letter

Search This Blog