I Mostly Just Need to Unpack My Suitcases

I can transport things, but also get in the way.

Rush Week is a pleasant week. Nothing about this week is really, really life or death. It's sort of like being on a reality tv show for a week. (Both because it's bad for my liver, and because it's like MTV's  The Gauntlet.)

The only real problem with Rush Week is my inability to perform normal life tasks. Like unpacking my luggage, for example. And this problem is compounded by my room's small size. It's not like living out of a suitcase - it's like living in a suitcase. Now I know how dead bodies feel! (Pay no attention to this graph's factual inconsistencies.) 

Sometimes, when I stumble in at night time, I trip and fall into my suitcases. But don't get nervous: my suitcases are basically just receptacles of black hooded sweatshirts, so falling into them is sort of enjoyable. As a matter of fact, I'm now thinking about trading in my mattress for a bed of black sweatshirts. It'd be so comfortable! And fashionable! And probably something American Apparel would stand behind.