Shannanigan's Search for More...

I think I know what my problem is.

I have no space to call my own.

See, when I lived in LA, I had my own bedroom. The walls were covered in posters and drawings, a string of keychains served as the pull-chain for my ceiling fan, the lightswitch turned on the radio instead of the light, and I had a drafting table to sit at and write, draw, or contemplate to my heart's content.

Now, I have a dorm with drab furniture that I am not allowed to remove, walls that are not allowed to be painted or have holes punched in them (and no, tape doesn't stick to the oil-based paint very well), and not enough space to display all my little relics of my past...

I escape the dorm almost every night by driving across the island to my boyfriend's house, and then I do homework and sleep in his room. This is his room, with his posters, his arrangement, his personality solidified within four walls. I am in his space...and it is not conducive to creative writing, I am afraid.

The closest place I can think of to "mine" is the writing center, because at least I helped decorate and arrange it...but it was still done so with students in mind besides myself.

I think it is because of this that I am having trouble getting back into the writing world. Well, at least once school is over I'll be getting my own apartment...perhaps then things will fall in place...