So I am back now, back in my dorm which i love so much.
The way i see it, since I got a digital camera for christmas I might as well post some pictures, so here are some pics of my dorm room, which i love . . . .so much.

For a few moments when i got here it felt like a dorm. The certain public smell of the hallway that i normally dont notice was so obvious, just for a few seconds . .. then it was gone. I got to my room, i unloaded a few things, and suddenly it was home again, and ever so comfortable. Strangely enough when i first moved in i didnt even experience that at all. Home my house . . .back in hope mills with my mother and father, that isnt home either though. Its the small cramped space where i watch too much tv and eat too much . . . some foreign land tat is all to familiar, like i have been there in a dream . . . but somehow i will never feel as if i belong there when i am awake.
I watched the movie "Kinsey" a few days ago with my brpther and my friend stef (its fantastic by the way) and in one of the interviews a character was conducting he asked the question: "When did you first feel that your parent's house was not your home?" I thought about how this applied to me for some time and came to this conclusion.
When I was in fifth grade, my teacher made a mistake. Her answer key was for an older text book and she marked several of my answers wrong on a test so I got a D. This was the first grade I had ever gotten that wasnt a vowel. I began to cry, to just completely hysterically bawl my eyes out. My friends asked me why, what was wrong? They had gotten abd grades to, but they were unaffected. I wanted to explain to them why it btohered me so, but i couldnt, i couldnt because i was sure they wouldnt understand, because i was sure that no one else was worried about it.
At the age of 11, I looked at that D and I thought, oh no, if i get a D I wont get a scholarship to college. Without a scholarship i wont be able to afford to go, and if i cant go to college my life will be over, and i will never, ever make it out of my parents house.
At that point my goal became to be somewere of my own, because where i was just didnt cut it, where i was didnt belong to me, and i knew i didnt belong to it.
The best night's sleep i have ever had was when i first moved into my dorm room. I had rearranged my room several times for lack of anything better to do. I had my bed up against the way alongside the huge window and my desk was gainst it, with the back of the desk sort of closing my bed in so that as i slept i was almost in a cave. I put my alarm clock on the window ledge and some stuffed animals and trinkets on the shelf above my bed and my print of Dali's the persistence of memory on the back of the desk so it faced me while i was in bed. I climbed under the covers, with brand new sheets and blankets, new, still fluffy pillows, and i was perfectly content. I had created a room within my room, a perfect place, a cave, a sanctuary. I belonged there becayse i had made it, i had arranged it and designed it to the exacting specification sof me, in a why that only i could truly understand.
The next day, when my roommate came in and we rearranged the room, (becauyse i had pretty much just shoved her bed into the closet for lack of any better ideas) I saved my Dali print as the desk was moved up against a wall and my roomie's boyfriend asked me, oh, is that your inspiration? For lack of any better response i said yes . . . because i knew that he wouldnt understand if i tried to explain.