So, what was your room like when you were a child?

When I was 14, I got a lot of aluminum foil and double sided tape and I papered my room with the foil. It looked great. I had posters and a black light and purple accessories.

Then, one night when I was 16, the foil gave way and rolled down over me while I slept.

That was very, very interesting. Trust me.

I did not put the foil back.

messy. Books and paper everywhere; clothes everywhere. pictures - you guessed it, everywhere.

Agree with Stew. Stuff. Everywhere. Except when my parents made me clean it, but it lasted about 10 minutes. I was a tornado.

porn and feces everywhere. . . .



really, a seven year old needs their hobbies, right?

Messy.

Same as my house is now. Stuff piled everywhere. (I'm a packrat.) Books on every more-or-less flat surface, at least a dozen projects on the go at any given time, wind chimes in every window.

No bed frame. I prefer a mattress on the floor tucked into a corner.

MESSY! When mum told me to clean my room, I'd just shove everything under my bed, out of sight.

Well for a long while I had to share my room with one of my sisters, a neat-freak, who would throw a fit if I left stuff laying around. Then I got my own, and let the place go inasmuchas my mother would allow (killed spiders using a bb-gun, then covered the holes with posters).

Now I live with the neat-freak, but she's toned down a bit and I tidied up a bit.

Always was, still is, and always will be a pigsty. Books everywhere, pieces of paper drifting by like tumbleweed, clothing piling up in geologic-like layers. But hey, it could be worse. I do leave clear spots on the floor, so I can hop from one to the next.

Now, I know a person who had 6 inch mushrooms growing from her carpet. Now that's just messy.

Yellow and white with daisy's everywhere and animal posters on the walls. In one corner was my desk and it was a disaster of papers and writing and books. The room looked okay,unless you checked under the bed or in the closets. Those were MESSY.

My room was always a disaster area.

Once when I was small, I was given the choice of cleaning my room or taking a spanking. I picked the spanking.

Never Give In!

Twin beds unmade. My brother, four years younger, slept in the other; stuffed animals piled high on his. A dresser, top drawers held my clothes, the lower ones he could reach. A toy-box of wooden slats, cowboy on a bronco whipping a lasso printed on its face, held pieces of broken toys in sizes from large to the very small. The wooden floor was seldom visible through discarded clothing and playthings. The thin veneer door was cracked from the previous tenants and stuck firmly to the wood grain was a gob of some unidentifiable grape colored hard substance. I hated that gob. I tried to clean it off but I never made a dent. Playing turned to fighting squelched by punishment. Always my fault, the older and then “Clean up this mess!” and everything was pushed under the beds and into the closet until the next day when it came out again in the search for the favorite toy and then the playing and the fighting and the starting of it all again. A window that I learned to use silently at night as an exit. Until I was fifteen and then it wasn’t my room any more, not my house, not my family, not for years.

We redecorated my room when I was about 10...that would be in the 60s...I had an orange color theme. I had an open closet door and hung love beads across the door. That was pretty cool!

I kept my room neat and clean (though I hate dusting) and I do that today too. Clutter causes stress--I have enough stress as it is with a disorganized teenage son!

Kind of messy, but not too bad - pretty much the same as now. Only now I have a LOT more houseplants and fewer stuffed animals.

Well even though you don't want to know, I will describe my room for you. The whole thing looks kind of like a crumbling apartment, with a hole in the wall and a reeeeally cracked ceiling that sometimes leaks water when it rains hard. I've got collages and drawings and paintings covering most of the walls, mostly from a long time ago. Over in the corner, next to my desk with the beat-up computer on it (that I never use anymore, since I have a laptop), I have two giant, old-fashioned suitcases filled with books. There are also books piled on top of them, because I ran out of room inside of them a long time ago. Other than my bed and my dresser (which is insanely cool and funky with fake gold leafing on it), I have a really fancy dollhouse (don't laugh at me!) that my parents' friends gave to me. I've got tons of furniture in it because my grandparents always bring me back stuff from the various countries they have been visiting, and currently the house is decorated for Christmas (okay, now I KNOW you're laughing.) But whatever, I like miniature things. And the dollhouse is always cleaner than the rest of my room. There is random clutter lying around the floor (books, those nifty Madeline shoes, and more books) and a wicker chair piled high with various copies of my various manuscripts at various stages of their completion.

So. Aren't you glad you asked?

I can't really remember. We moved all the time, so it all blends together. I must have been around 13, though, when I had a 'ALF in Hawaiian outfit' poster on my wall and a globus.

I never decorated much.

writerterri said:

Mine was neat and tidy until I hit about 17 then it was declared a disaster.
Now, it's neat and tidy again. I make my bed everyday too.
And you?

Click to expand...

My room was the kind you didn't venture into without a fearless native guide and a tetanus booster. I'm still not exactly Martha Stewart, but I'm better than I used to be.

We had a tiny one-bedroom house here in OKC... parents got the bedroom. I slept on the enclosed back/utility porch. Twin bed and tiny dresser just barely fit. I slept with my head right next to the gas hot-water tank. (Yeah, I heard you! That's NOT what's wrong with me today! )

I was absolutely, positively, completely in love with Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo - so life-size posters adorned the walls... ALL of the walls. I had a used record player that I was OH so proud and possessive of, too.

Man... I guess we were really poor. I didn't realize it 'til just now.

Hrmmm. I never had my own bedroom. I always shared with siblings. First one brother, then two. It was an old house, with cracks in the wall you could stick your thumb through. There was only really room for the beds, a bookcase, and a desk we all shared. Oh, and hundred of books I owned, hand-me-downs, mostly.

Mine was pepto bismol pink until I turned 18. The pink was my dads idea when I was seven, I had been asking him to repaint the furniture for years, but it was always put off. Now it is an assortment of different but matching colors.

Of course when it comes time to buy my own furniture, it will be stained wood, all of it. It just looks nicer and more 'adult'

My room was shared with my older sister. She had the huge, king-size bed and huge vanity mirror with the princess phone on it. I had a small single bed with a tray table I put make-up and other stuff on. Guess those weren't the days, my friend. Now I share my bedroom with my hubby. Much better!

My room was small and shared with my brother (gross) until I was ten--and it instantly became a place of terror when my mother came in wielding my my father's trouser belt. Lot's of sore behinds in that room.

It was messy, but in mostly the same sense that my office is messy now. There were copies of my stories everywhere, handwritten notes, books, magazines, and so on.

The walls were plastered every inch with pictures I drew (mostly, on tracing paper because I can't draw; I would salvage bits of other pictures and make original artwork. It worked pretty well. I did a couple hundred of them.)

The only difference is, I have more teacups scattered around now.
And a wife.