Play "I Spy"

My bedroom looks like someone packed a circus into the tent, threw it over their shoulder, then loaded a stick of dynamite inside and waited to see what explosive chemical reaction would occur. I challenge anyone to spend thirty seconds in my room and then remember what color the walls are. Problem is, this is a lot harder than it sounds; the walls aren't actually visible.

This is the sort of self-inflicted chaos I live in. I love it.

On my bookcase, the books are stacked horizontally instead of the other way around - although more space efficient and easier to read the book titles, the arrangement makes it feel lopsided

and crowded. There's a bit of Edgar Allan Poe, quite a few collections of fairytales and fables, an extensive collection of works by Jodi Picoult, and - top shelf - the complete story of Harry James Potter. I keep my odds and ends in antique glassware that I scrounge for at garage sales and alley shops. There's a few empty bottles collecting in a corner that look too interesting to throw out.

I have a fish now. His name is Napoleon. He's watching me. He's watching you, too.

My bed is never made. I find it unfamiliar to slip into covers that have not seen the light of day. There are too many pillows and half of them end up on the floor over night. The pillowcases, bedsheets, blankets - nothing matches. Hidden among the various soft and fuzzy things are long lost pencils, USBs, coins and other sharp or missing items. I've lost homework in my bed before. Oh my goodness, I almost typed something that could have been VERY BADLY MISINTERPRETED. Good catch, Cozy, way to think before you type.

I should consider doing my laundry. The pile is starting to spill out of the closet. What color is my carpet?

Let me begin a list of all the things pinned to my four walls. A tiger. A few debate awards. Fourteen belts. An invitation. An empty bag of old-fashioned cherry-pie flavored candies. The ticket stub from the time they gave me a child's twelve-and-under ticket at the state fair, even though I was with a bunch of clearly high-school-aged boys. Letters. A paper fish. A tea bag. A used iTunes giftcard. Santa Claus. A ladybug. A map of Asia and a map of Africa. Some figure drawings. Simon Cowell. Three blue jay feathers. My own paintings. An autograph from Michael Sheen. A drawing I made one day in health class in eighth grade. A few of my most memorable poems. Two cork boards (full). A card saying I am certified in CPR. A wanted poster for my brother. Simba. A Dove dark chocolate wrapper. A piece of metal left over from the first time I used a band saw. A few shiny plaques. A cowboy.

My walls are purple.