I regret anything I ever, ever said about not wanting to live at home. Every word. I know we didn’t have a lot of room, I know I complained about Babes reading books in the bathroom, I know I had too much stuff and too little space, I know we didn’t have a gorgeous library with more books than I could read in a lifetime…I know. But you know what you have that I don’t?
Here’s a sample scenario: a phone call. A personal one (you know, one of those to y’all in which I cried like a baby and pretended not to be homesick). Here are my options:
- My room, with a very sweet roommate who does not need to hear me talk about her regardless of the nice things I say.
- The lounge on my dorm floor, with two hallways and a front row seat for anyone who takes the elevator (which is everyone).
- The Commons, so even the people who aren’t a student at Moody can find out how terrible the food is here when I forget my inside voice while on the phone.
- The Plaza, where students from all three dorms, professors from their offices, and strangers walking by can hear and see me pacing erratically and or/dancing while on the phone before I realize what I’m doing.
- Any stairwell(s), a fabulous place to be alone and allow all nineteen-some floors to hear my sniffles the minute a door is opened.
- A practice room, so someone who is legitimately good at playing piano can hear talking instead of music. Then he/she can peer in that tiny square of glass and wonder why a non-music major is hogging a needed room.
- The tunnels, where I can not only get lost, but share personal conversations with the strangers I can’t see around every corner. (Announcing: The CPO. Come get your mail and someone else’s drama!)
- The only patch of grass on campus. A great place for conversation until they start that game of Ultimate Frisbee you didn’t know was happening.
- A Chicago street, so I can forget where I’m going while talking and get side-eyed by the rest of the world who can then talk about me in a language I don’t understand. This option comes with bonus points for getting completely lost after my phone dies (something that Mr. Safety Officer told us is A Very Bad Thing).
- The Library, which, haha, nope.
I would like a soundproof room to myself with a lock so no one can come in. It’ll need an electrical outlet for my phone and computer, of course. And preferably a kitchen, so I don’t have to leave when I get starved. And a sofa. Or just a bed. Plus a window to see stuff. And a bathroom, probably. And…snap. I just want an apartment to myself, I guess. Which won’t happen for four years, which is a terrifying, tragic, traumatic thing.
Excuse me while I go try to find someplace I can cry. It may or may not involve pretending to take a shower. Or just hanging a “no admittance” sign on my bathroom. Or coming home.
Maybe missing you (or maybe just my privacy),