My mom has always said that my room is the one place I never have trouble keeping clean. It’s part of a mindset that I haven’t quite learned to share with the rest of the house – that this place is mine. It’s special. It’s where I live, and therefore I keep it in a state that makes my heart happy and spirit light. I love my room. It’s large, for one thing – plenty of room for my books, plenty of wall space to decorate. For another, the windows let in beautiful light and, at the moment, a soft, cooling autumn breeze. When I’m in my room, my subconscious goes, “Love what you’ve done with the place.” I enjoy working and relaxing and spending time here. There’s an art student, named Pepper, who I’ve been friends with since I was fourteen, who suggested we trade blog posts about our spaces. Since I’ve been dying for a look into her digs, I thought it was a great idea. So, are you ready for a tour of my corner of the world? Follow me.

I had to show off my rabbit doorstop and my custom-designed Winter Soldier purse.

This is the mirror my mom had in college. It used to be gold, but we gave it a re-vamp.

This poster is from my dad’s school days. He still sings songs from Carnival, and seeing the play is on my bucket list.

Coming into my room, these greet you – a flying pig, because anything is possible, and an Irish greeting that means ‘God to you.’

On the way out, you can pick your own Shakespearean insult, and let an elephant in a bowler hat tell you ‘your day will go the way the corners of your mouth turn.’

This is my room, and I love it. You lumpish hedge-born hugger-mugger.