I'm feeling peeved at the upset of my summer routine. My roommate and I have moved back to Foster Hall for the Fall term. While I'm happy to be back by the Chapel, and near the guys' dorms, no less, there are adjustments to make. Foster's rooms are small. The dormitory is rumored to have been built for single male occupants. Now, the rooms house double occupants, females, and all the feathers we can fit to make our nests more home-like.
Audra and I share a bookshelf and closet. Our beds are bunked, atop cinderblocks to give us more storage room. Our dressers are stacked, with a dorm-size refrigerater the crowning touch. Our desks flank the wall opposite the window.
This is Audra's last semester, and I thought she deserved the bottom bunk. I'm thinking I might start sleeping on the floor. This old woman dreads the climb up to bed at night, and there's a good chance I may break something climbing down in the morning. And I don't mean the furniture! I get up at 5:30 so I'll have my pick of the showers; no one else on the floor is up at that unearthly hour.
I need time to think about organizing my stuff, my umpteen pairs of shoes, and extensive library. I need another bookshelf, or some planks and bricks to build one on my desk. I never want to move again until I graduate, even though I would relish the quiet privacy of Mabee dorm, where I'd have plenty of space, and share a shower with just four other girls.
Foster accomodations are modest, but adequate. My existence at C of O is close to utopian; it is the pessimist in me that looks for things to complain about. There will always be something to miss. Once the dust settles, I will be quite content with my small corner on campus.