The digs (and an excess of parenthetical statements)

        Pretty cushy accommodations, I gotta say. The bedding, however, is a rather horrible indeterminate shade of peachy orangey pink (I think perhaps a bout of emergency tie-dying is in order). They're also made from some synthetic fiber, and result in a fabric that is simultaneously reminiscent of both plastic grocery bags and nail files. I was forced to purchase some cheap but thankfully cotton pillowcases which are an unenthusiastic and un-sunshiney orange. Also, the plentiful bookshelf space but meager book stock is tragic - this is not the room's fault, of course. There is absolutely nothing I can do about the curtains.
        Despite these flaws, I really like the rooms.
        They're surprisingly spacious, comfortable, and clean (in a completely good and satisfying way, not in the desperately-searching-for-something-positive-to-say way). They're very ... friendly lodgings. I guess that's the right word. It doesn't feel industrial, like so much of collegiate housing does. Maybe it's the fact that the room is carpeted in a friendly blue-grey (with flecks of practically every other color imaginable woven into it). I can walk barefoot around my room without freezing my feet off. I find myself wishing that Coe's housing were like this. The built-in furniture, though taking away some potential creativity on the lodger's part, is an improvement to the shabby linoleum desks and wobbly beds of Murray Hall. It's undeniably solid, making it easier to feel like it's really somewhere you're living, rather than somewhere you happen to be temporarily staying.

        After this, I think that there is now no way I can go back to living in a double. It's not that I don't get along with roommates; I've liked the roommates I've had, quite a lot actually. But ... it's incredibly relieving to have a space I can completely fill without any unspoken lines of demarcation. It's mine, no questions asked. I can pin up whatever arcane decoration I want, I can play whatever music, whenever, at whatever volume, without seeking permission. I can have the window open at all times (a small pleasure mentioned in a previous post).
        It's probably selfish, but it's nice being answerable to no one. For a given amount of "unanswerable," of course. School housing rules still apply, some of which are pretty silly and readily ignored by everyone (no music played without headphones in the dorms, for example), some which are actually taken seriously (no candles), while others are tolerated with a sigh (nothing hung on the walls with tape, sticky-tack, or any other adhesive substance).


        Tomorrow: first class of the term. Writing Fiction (advanced). I still have no idea where it is. I was told by the receptionist to "drop by the night of your class. There should be a board posted with all the classes and their locations listed. Probably."
        Oh, art school. Efficiency's not all bad.
        At the same time, it's a little exciting. Exciting in that very disorganized and haphazard sort of way. Regardless, I'm very interested to see how fiction/writing courses are handled here. I'm told that the workshop style is very much an American thing, but it's slowly catching on overseas. We'll see, come seven o'clock tomorrow.

        Provided, of course, that I can find the classroom.