my room
My room is kind of like my enclosure. It's got lots of colours (appropriate environmental stimulation) and books & things I do crafts with (appropriate behavioural stimulation).
Most of the time I don't really do any of that, though. I like walking on circles on top of the big, old rug in the centre of it all. Its threads are starting to come apart, because I like to walk along its boundary over and over again. It used to be covered in cat hair, but not anymore.
It even has a minifridge (appropriate nutritional sustenance).
Outside my window is a big bush of bougainvillea. Bougainvillea flowers have papery petals, so when it's windy at night, it sounds like... Well. There's a lot of washed-out similitudes I could use here: "they're whispering something I shouldn't be privy to," "a very faraway ocean," "the most quiet downpour you could dream of". All of these things, and more.
If you were to travel in a straight line from my room, in the direction my window faces, you would eventually die: because there is a highway somewhere close by. Sometimes the sound of traffic is so loud that I have to close the window to fall asleep - even when the still air makes me feel sick; I often wonder if it's supposed to sound that loud. Is it only me that can't fall asleep?
I like my room. I like it in here. It makes me tired when I have to leave.