Even though my room is prone to easily becoming cluttered due to a lack of storage units (dressers, desks, etc.) I have grown to love my space.  It is not so much the room itself, especially since my roommate and I have dramatically different stylistic tastes, and I would rather my windows overlook something more picturesque than La Mirada Blvd; it is more the things in my space.  The books, journals, pictures, bedding, jewelry box all have little stories behind them and make my space more of a home.

I think what it is, is that deep down I'm a "nesting person."  I showed the early signs of this from when I was in the single digits (1-9).  I would always find place to "burrow."  Though it may have been a slightly odd practice, it made me feel safe and I guess in my childish way, domestic.  I remember having this huge field with all this Minor's Lettuce growing about, only I thought it was called "Minor's Lice."  My best friend and I would pile that stuff up for as long as our attention spans would permit, and we'd make a literal nest out of it.  Don't worry, the nest had a key component in our make believe game.

When I'm grown up, because let's face it, I really am not that grown up yet (or don't feel it).  I am going to have a office in my house.  Maybe the day I get my own home office will be the day I officially grow up.  Either way, it's going to be lovely.  Even if it's the size of a closet and overlooks an ugly highway.  I'll find it's closet-like size endearing, and the lights of the highway perhaps in certain moments semi to fully romantic, and it won't be so bad.  You know why?  Because it will be my little nest.  With things ... things that aren't just lame materials, but things that remind me of places and people I love.  I'm looking forward to that time in my life, but until then, I'll remain content with my half of the bedroom.