I believe that sleep can either be found by unconciously resting your head on your
pillow for a few hours or by brewing your favorite roast in a little four cup coffee
maker. Seriously, is there anything that a few shots of espresso won’t cure? I think
not. Caffeine is the fuel that keeps me going in my academic life and my seemingly
non-existent academic life. During the accelerated pace of college, peoples true natures
come out. No longer are they restricted to be who their family or high school friends
want them to be.
I think you can tell a lot about a person by the mess they leave. Or in some cases—the rest of my family–the lack thereof. My mess is never dirty, dirty messes are gross, and I have witnessed many messes of this category in my dorm experiences. My mess is just really, really scattered and cluttered. I always told my parents that I could either be
creative or organized. Would they be willing to hinder the creative energies of a
blooming artist? Currently my room consists of half folded laundry in the corner, an
unmade bed, and a desk with a cup of half consumed coffee resting upon countless papers; each paper bearing the familiar cursive scrawl. My notes usually give hint to my
interest in the class because some classes are notebooks filled with detailed
descriptions of matters covered in lecture. Other notes, however appear more to be
sketchbooks and appeal to my creative side.
As a person walks down the hallway of a dormitory, they may peer into the rooms and simultaneously examine each room’s occupants lives, and make accurate predictions of them. For instance, the Pre-Med student down my hall has a meticulously kept desk with a little flag in the corner bearing the mark of his future Medical University. My computer science/engineering friends (although I rarely see them leave the basement study room) each have their hand-built PCs and/or laptops, each humming triumphantly as technological trophies waiting to be shown off. Recreation or communication majors are known to have the lowest work load, so their rooms are generally transformed into major hang out joints with old, floral print couches that are older than we are, countless posters, a large tv and accompanying sound system.
So after demonstrating my ability to psychoanalyze people based upon their dorm rooms, what does my room tell about me and my future aspirations? Among the coffee stained papers, miscellaneous pictures hanging on the wall, thrift store lamps, and bags of brown rice, what clues do I find? In all honestly I have not even the remotest idea. When asked the all-famous question, “what’s your major?” I really have no idea. I don’t know what kind of coffee I want to make tomorrow or what coffee shop I will frequent next let alone what I want to do in five, ten or fifteen years. I believe that I have no idea what I am doing in life, but I’m going keep drinking coffee and try to figure it out.
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