Descriptive Paragraph

     Inside the room there is a laundry basket overflowing. A pair of boots, one pair of converse and another pair of athletic sneakers gather around the basket on a handmade rug. I made the rug from my old roommate's old t-shirts over the summer. With one leap of the eye, there is a bed. It's up against the white, bumpy wall. There are plenty of blankets and pillows piled high to increase comfort. Sitting against the main pillow is Rosebud, the bear my grandpa gave me when I was little. Her cloth body is alert and sitting up straight. Up against the bed is a sturdy wooden desk and matching bookcase. Books line the shelves along with picture frames and other mementos. No matter how many times I try to clean it, something always finds its way onto the desk. This time it's a water bottle, Van Gogh mug, a couple notebooks, an alarm clock and some lotion. On the side of the bookcase there are bible verses and pictures that a seven year old best friend made. There is also a quote about courage. A corresponding chair is tucked into the desk. A vest and sweatshirt make their home on the back of the it. Hanging on the wall above the bed there is a cloth memo board, the ones with ribbon that hold things relatively in place. Newspaper and magazine cut outs litter the board along with photos, paint samples, cards and other things artists pick up. Above that there are  five other picture frames. Three contain actual photos, and the others display motivating quotes. A string of lights reflect in the glass of the frames.   On the wall that supports the majority of the pillows on the bed is a collection of meaningful things, hung with tape. Who really cares about the rules? A postcard, a regular card from my sister, three drawings from aforementioned best friend and niece, a calendar picture of a door in Italy, a Lawrence Welk record, three hats, a Downton Abbey calendar and two magazine pages are temporarily fixed to the wall.