My roommate and I lost our stapler. I actually blame myself, because I remember seeing it somewhere funny, but I can’t remember where that hilarious place is. Anyways, in the search for said stapler, I found under the rolling drawer part of my desk (holla Crothers!) a piece of paper. Wanting to recycle it, I pulled it out. AND A DOLLAR CAME WITH IT (I know, this is practically like winning the lottery). When I looked at the piece of paper, it was in someone else’s handwriting. Wanting to find out if anything else were in there (and hoping to find someone’s stash of money), I pulled out the drawer so I could reach behind it to the mysterious treasure. Here is a picture of what I found:
Besides the paper and dollar, three pens, three pencils, two erasers, a reservation to the Sheraton Hotel, a button (which oddly exactly matches a button that I am in need of), and a pack of birth control with only one pill missing.
The craziest part of the whole thing for me, was the realization that this is not really my room. Having just gotten to the point in my Stanford career where I feel like I have a place here and that this place is almost a home for me (take that, Sophomore slump!), I was really taken aback by the realization that this place isn’t actually my home.
As much as I love my room and roommate and feel really comfortable here, I only have about 20 weeks left here (not counting Spring Break). Then I have to move almost every single item that I own to somewhere else.
I guess I’m just whining about the college predicament of having no permanent home, but I got caught off guard.
And it makes me wonder. Do all Stanford students consider this place home? Can a place that you move in and out of several times a year truly be a home? How much stuff did I leave in my room last time?
And if you’re curious, no, I did not find my stapler. Stapler donations are currently being accepted. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org