Before the website, I always called my room myspace.  It was the only place I had to keep things that belonged to me.  Growing up, I slept in the attic, two floors above civilzation. No mom, no dad, no little brother, just me blasting cheesy 90’s pop music from my dad’s old speakers, singing as loudly as I wanted to, and dancing a la Britney in front of a full length mirror. 

In college, myspace became important.  It was no longer about having a place to unleash my inner pop star, it was about having a place to exist. It was a place to sleep, study, rest, relax.  It was a place to shut out school, or sometimes fully immerse myself in it.  There were times I saw my room as an escape, and other times it felt like a prison.  Either way, it was a space that I coveted.  It was my home away from home.   \When you add up all the semesters and summers, I slept in a total of six different dorms in the past three years.  Not once did I move my stuff back home.  All of it was simply transferred from place to place and with each move, it became more evident that I didn’t need about 75% of what I brought to school with me.   

Sorting through the clutter today was a bittersweet process.  I relived my entire college career in those moments via graded papers, notebooks, and mementos I saved from each year at school.  I cleaned out the hell that was the past 2 weeks and finally made the bed I barely slept in only to strip its sheets one last time.  I found the library book I’m being fined for (think along the lines of the GNP of a very small third world country) and unplugged my TV and cable box.  I stuffed three garbage bags full of clothes and decided that if I could go back to freshman year, I’d tell myself that 20 pairs of shoes at school is excessive and unnecessary.

I cried a little today because of what I was leaving behind.  I cried for the papers I threw away and the books I no longer have use for.  I cried for the lifestyle I can no longer call my own, the lifestyle I no longer want.  I cried when I saw the new bed my parents bought for me and the clean sheets my mother had waiting.  Myspace is sitting in boxes and garbage bags at the foot of the stairs, waiting for me to unpack.  It’s never felt this good to be home.