Excavation of senior’s dorm room causes identity crisis

I only kind of remember my first day at Vassar, partially because it was basically eons ago but also because I was pretty hopped up on allergy meds that my parents made me take that morning after I got stung in the mouth by a bee and started to look like Angelina Jolie. I mean, my lips did. The rest of me is pretty blonde and un-waif like. Anyways, one of the main things I remember from my first day is setting all of my stuff down on the floor of my new room and realizing that I am simply not a neat enough person to share a space with someone.

Unless, of course, that someone really enjoys having all of their possessions covered by my laundry and paper handouts that I’m never going to read but feel that they are important for me to keep in case I ever have to make 1,000 paper hats. I have in no way “grown” or “matured” over the years, but I have literally grown older, allowing me to aggressively maintain my lifestyle of messiness* by not having a roommate over the next three years. (*Messiness being extremely unrelated to the short Spanish soccer player). The following is my archaeological excavation of the layers of my room.

The Top Layer, or “A case study in materialism”: Upon entering my room (cave?), you can’t help but be immediately struck by the presence of every item of clothing I have ever owned just straight chilling on the floor. There are sweat pants and onesies and leggings and shirts and dresses and hangers that I have literally never used except for on the day I unpacked, which is the same day I make the promise to myself that THIS year will be different, THIS year I will keep my stuff hung up instead of storing all of my clothes on the ground! This promise is immediately broken on the first weekend when I have what could only be considered a rage blackout because why do all of the mirrors from Target make me look fat!? Clothes are thrown about willy-nilly, and I refuse to pick them up until I am procrastinating writing my weekly Moodle post. I realize that this makes me sound incredibly shallow, but hey, I shan’t defend myself. I’m a simple human, made mostly of being funny and being bad at math and hating mirrors from Target. And cheese. Which brings me to the next layer.

The Secondary Layer, or “Why we should install child safety locks on the kitchen cabinets so that I don’t get into them at 2 am on a Saturday night”: By the time you have waded through all of my clothes and made it to what seems like a safe haven, the bed/desk area, you’re probably fiending for a small snack. Luckily for you, this is where I store all of the snacks that I take up to my room after a night of drinking. Of course, it goes without saying that this is my first year experiencing the side effects of alcohol, because it has been illegal for me to imbibe up to this point and I would OBVIOUSLY never blatantly disregard the laws of our country in such a fashion. Anyways, I have a tendency to go all “sneaaakkyyy Mom” around 2 in the morning on weekend nights, which involves me grabbing an entire brick of cheddar cheese from the fridge, and running in what I feel is a subtle way up to my room where I can consume most of that cheese brick in complete privacy. Thank goodness it’s scientifically impossible to gain weight after your freshman year.

The Third Layer, or “Those things that you only find when you are packing up to leave for the summer that you never knew you had but probably would have been useful at some point”: Every year while I am packing I am convinced that my friends are trolling me by hiding random objects around my room and then pretending not to know where that life-sized Buddha figurine came from. There are a few places I never look during the school year: under my bed, at my bank account, or in my bottom desk drawer. There is a reason I pointedly avoid these places: I never find anything good there. Under my bed, I have found socks that are decidedly NOT mine (unless my feet grew from the weirdly small size of Women’s 6 to Men’s 13), a cowboy hat, and the planner that I bought my freshman year that I for some reason keep even though all it does is stare at me judgmentally from across the room unless I hide it under my bed. I just want to watch Shark Girl and Lava Boy on Netflix in peace for once, okay?! My bank account doesn’t need to be discussed because it is constantly filled with only one thing, and that is my tears. My bottom desk drawer consists mostly of readings from February of 2011 about things like the hegemony that I tried to make myself care about but couldn’t because like I said, Shark Girl and Lava Boy is on Netflix and I don’t understand what more you want from me!

In closing, I’d like to remind everyone that college is a chance for you to be whoever you want to be, even if that person is a cheese hoarder with an origami hat obsession.

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