This Dorm Room

This Dorm Room kind of sounds like, "This Old Man," and then I remembered a really lame memory. Who sings nursery rhymes as an adult? I think the crazy villains in the Batman franchises do. Wood Hall is a lovely dormitory that I have now almost completed two school years in. I've been in this same dormitory room for a long, long time that is. There's this image of me hanging out in this room, between these well lit walls. There is a blur of junk flashing in and out of it. The furniture in this room has been, looked, and stayed new in my room. There is a slow build of papers on my walls, taped there. There is junk piles that go up and down. There's three posters I got in Israel from the streets of Tel Aviv. I've got motivation theories and a pamphlet of how to say no posted on the walls. I've got syllabi posted on the walls. I've been thinking of war lately, and how it seems as natural a disposition as peace.
When I knew less, last year, and I was more self-centered, I had no carpet and the chair, going back and forth from me to my desk to see so many facebook pages, so many assignments I haven't done, whatever, gouged purplish gray gashes into the floor. Months later, over the summer I checked my school email to see a note I hadn't seen before. They had gone in and replaced the linoleum and charged my account. Appeals were to be made the week that the message had been sent out in the summer. I never saw it coming. This room has chewed me up and spit me out. It looks bright, new, well lit, and functional but I can't get a damn thing done in here and it just accumulates everything that I want to do but never get around to. It's a really cozy dungeon.