I didn't think it was possible.

I didn't think there was anyway that those floors you sweep vigorously only to find they might be dirtier than they were before you started, those heaters that heat up to dangerous temperatures way too quickly, the holes in the walls, the lovely drawings resembling parts of our anatomy on the paper thin walls, the squeaky beds that no one wanted to listen to next door in the late hours of the night, the bizarre and all too confusing structural layout, and of course our dear elevator that moved at speeds slower than you could ever imagine, would hold a place in my heart. Yes, I’ll admit it: I miss Dadisman Hall. 

Call me a hypocrite. I know I complained all year long, but a part of me misses listening to the daily quarrels of the noisy maintenance staff. A small part of me really wishes I could take a trip in the putrid, snaillike elevator with its walls that inexplicably resembled corn. I even miss casting my all too disgusted glance toward the hallway as the mysterious individual, who took to running down the hallways while stomping his feet, made his daily rounds. Mostly though, I miss my quiet little dorm room that I called home.

Thinking about room 252, all empty and lonely makes my heart ache. Move-out day came fast and finals were involved, making it a sleepless blur of boxes, bags and the infamous red rolling bins. I don’t think I even looked back as I rolled the last of my belongings out of my beloved room. I just closed the door and locked it behind me, not to be opened again until summer “cleaning” when the loud maintenance staff will violently shove things around in my poor room. 

Spacious, cozy, and unruly, my little room experienced it all. It seemed that no matter what happened in the course of our bemusing, wild and sometimes shameful weekend activities, everyone always ended up in room 252. Its a wonder we were never suspected through all of our especially loud antics. Once in a while, after a long night, way too many people would gather in my room. To this day, I’m really not quite sure what it was we were doing, but it was a blast. The next day, as I puzzled over the purple stains on my carpet, or the mysterious sticky spots on my floor, I would shake my head and smile. 

My poor room...If I ever get the chance, I’ll be sure to say thank you to room 252. As I had it all to myself, my room gave me quiet when I needed it, a place to cry, a place to celebrate, and of course, double the closet space. What more could you ask for in a dorm room? As happy as I am to be moving on to bigger and better things at WVU, my dusty dorm room will hold a special place in my heart.