A Dorm Room


I always thought about university as a dorm room where I could study and have friends. I never thought of it as a small place where I would have to sleep at night. I never thought about the washrooms. The washrooms of a dorm room floor were not what I thought about when I thought about university.

So I never went to university, in the way I imagined it. I went to university in a bus and in a lecture hall but never in a dorm room.  I realize now, sitting in a dorm room built in 1951 (“mainly for boys”), that I didn’t miss out on university.

DormRoom_PercyHolmes_1904(from spfldcol.edu)

I love a confined space in which to write. I am not even someone who hates distractions and I like a confined space to write. But there are times where I don’t feel like writing (every few minutes) and what is a confined space then? Especially a confined space when you know there are 389 other rooms in the same building as yours (built in 1951, mainly for boys) and they are all milling about like ants and even if you step out to go pee wearing a cute outfit you might be seen by one of them! How scary a confined space when it is surrounded by other people in confined spaces. It’s the beauty of jail and of dollhouses.

Key to a good confined space is no window, though I am untraditional: I like a view with my confined space. This one has a view but I am on the first floor, so nearing sunset I have closed the blinds so people don’t peer in at me as I peer out at them, blinded by the sun. Now I have what I wished for: dark green curtains – basically a room with no window.

I hope that my time in this confined space is well spent: I hope I use the fearful moments to write a fearful scene and the moments in which I don’t feel like writing to write an awful scene. I hope I am brave enough in my cute outfit to venture past the washroom.

Really, secretly, I hope that in the next two weeks I get to experience university. I hope I learn something about what it’s like to be cool and sociable. I hope I get in trouble for having a loud party. I hope I am late for class and I hope I wear pyjamas everywhere. I hope I become really cheap and heavy and I hope that I take a lot of photos with my hand posed on my waist. Barring any of those things happening, (and I hope none of those things happen), I hope I get to write a little bit, and I hope I leave appreciating what my university experience was really like: good to me, a place where I thought and learned and a place from which I discovered that I was going to be a writer.








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