My present room

Writing exercise – seminar / 19.01.2011

My room in halls of residence is big. I have the biggest and quietest one in this hallway.  I’m also lucky that I don’t face the main road, but I can still hear the sirens outside. Last week I heard a loud crash. The whole floor vibrated. It sounded like a robot fell from the sky. I’ve been having the windows closed, so I can focus on the three most important things: my laptop, my desk lamp and my music. When it gets too much, I just lie down on my bed for a while until it hurts – as I can feel the coil springs dig into my ribs. It’s quiet now, despite the fighting cats outside. Virginia Woolf writes about ‘one’s own room’ – and this is my own room, an effigy of my privacy and creativity, but also loneliness. It feels like I’m married to my own head. Where am I really? In my room? In my head? Or in a story? What’s outside again? I start sticking irrational sentences on the wall, so that my room talks to me. I put up posters on the wall; posters showing twisted art by Giger and Bacon. The devil, disfigured faces and reptilian humanoids. And a to-do-list right in front of me that says: “Write!”

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