my cell

People tell me how lucky I am to have been allocated my room in the University-run apartment complex where I live. Most days I’d agree. It’s a bit bigger than the other 5 rooms in my flat. I have a great sea view – I can sit at my desk and stare out at the waves and watch the seagulls float past. We’re up on the 6th floor so we get less of the considerable street noise. I’ve decorated it a bit, so it feels kind of homey.

But some days it feels more like a prison cell than anything. While it is larger than most, it is still tiny – I can sit on one side of the room at my desk and prop my feet on the bed. On tantalizingly sunny days like today it is brutal to sit inside and feel the sun on you, wishing you were outside enjoying it. And hearing people out partying on a Saturday night while you’re in reading yet another article on empowering society can be so depressing. Outside of my two days a week I am on campus for classes, I spend most of the rest of my time here in my little room, working (or at least thinking about how I should be working). It’senough to drive a girl mad.


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