I’ve always been a big fan of my bedroom. It’s got everything I need to be productive, to relax, to study, to sleep, to be myself. Everything is up very high to accommodate my height. I have my desk with its computer and printer, and I have my bookshelves with the thousand books that used to be a million, but which I’ve pared down and now comprise only the most meaningful, the most trusty. I have my bureau, which is very tall, with a mirror on top of it. I have my bed where I sleep well.

My floor has its little mat that I put my feet on when I get out of bed in the morning. I bought that mat over ten years ago. I have my small tables and one or two chairs in my room; I do many different things in here. In addition to what I mention above, I can make sound recordings in here. I can make video recordings in here too. I can write up a storm about whatever is on my mind. I could even lie down on the floor and exercise in here, if I wanted to.

There are pictures of my family above my desk. There’s a drawing an artist friend of mine did for my 25th birthday on the wall next to it. I have my Greek flag, my human muscular system chart, my academic and professional diplomas. A little ways over is my record collection and record player. It is fairly extensive, beautiful, and heavy.

My room is my little world in which I am at the center, creating and building everything that seemingly exists. It is organized for me, by me, for the benefit of me. I wish everyone had a room like this one.