In which I look around my room and decide that I don't want to leave.

I'm waiting on my dad to send me mark-ups on a research paper and taking advantage of this break from work to tidy up my room. Its beginning to hit me that in just under a month, I'll have to pack everything up and go home for the last time of my Bryan career. This is a daunting thought, because living here over the summer allowed me to nest and create my "home" in a manner quite different than what the dorms allowed, and I've settled in a little too well.

 I decorate with books, so I have not only my textbooks here, but a bookshelf full of my most beloved volumes, most of which, I haven't even touched over the past year. I knew I wouldn't have a lot of time for pleasure reading, but it makes me feel comfortable to have them here, "just in case." Some are old, old friends--like Anne of Green Gables--who I pull out occasional to draw courage from. Others are new additions, like my writing shelf full of essays and non-fiction and writers-on-writing; I keep these for encouragement to continue to do what I love best.

Just as the surfaces in this room are covered with books, so are the walls aptly adorned. As you might have noticed from the picture above, the focal point is a grand retro-style travel poster for Gallifrey, the planet of the Time-Lords. This is only a part of the larger Doctor Who theme that pervades my room. Roughly a third of the computer printouts taped to my walls and pinned to the bulletin board have something to do with the Mad Man in the Blue Box. The next largest category is anything Jane Austen. There's one crossover piece though that reads,"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a mad man in possession of a blue box must be in want of a companion." Whovian-Austenites, for the win!

I've grown quite comfortable with this room, as its begun to feel the most home-y of all my college lodgings. It's hard to think that in a few short weeks I'll be leaving it behind for the final time. I've spent a good portion of my life adjusting to a new living situation, getting to know people, making memories and cultivating a sense of belonging, only to be uprooted and transplanted someplace new. It's comforting to remember that I'm not starting afresh in a brand new place this time; rather, I'm just going home to my family in Nashville. But still, I'm not the same Sarah as the 19 year-old that left home for the first time two and a half years ago, and this is going to be hard.

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