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Imagine a room. Not a very large room, a bit small and cramped. It's not too bad, it has a bed. Maybe a cot. OK, it's a mattress on the floor.

Across from this is a window. Two windows, really, but it might as well be one. Even so, the blinds are often down with the shutters closed, as I let the gears turn inside.

That's right, gears. Along the left and right walls are gears, cogs, and other such contraptions that click and whir and whistle and buzz, keeping the room running smoothly.

Against the front wall where the windows (presumably) look out, a desk sits. Upon the desk is a movie projector which points directly at the back wall. Also on the desk are various Post-It notes, tacked along it and almost every surface of the room. Upon the notes are various bits of trivia and thoughts that I may have in the day - often notes on what I've seen on the projector.

The projector itself shows movies - usually original movies, with actors and actresses I have never met nor even seen before.

I also have an MP3 player which blasts music through the walls, but it's on shuffle and pretty much plays whatever the hell it wants unless I outright force it to play something else.

Why am I describing this? So you know exactly how it is to be me. This room is not simply my mind - this room is my LIFE.

It's rather different from my actual physical room, and probably a bit cooler. It doesn't seem like much, but the contraptions (as well as a certain pretty female) are enough to keep me company, and I like to spend my time sitting in the most comfortable desk-chair EVER and stare at the back wall, switching between movies as I see more and more of them. And as I lie on the mattress, I become part of them as they play in the back of my mind.

The notes are often scattered and misplaced, but I love my tiny room nevertheless.

I just wish that projector would stop playing bad memories.