Why do we have this obsession with marking on stalls or desks that we were once there? We’ve seen it on dining room tables, names etched somewhere on your bathroom stalls and on the windowsills of public transportation.

I’m just curious as to why is it that we feel so compelled to write that we were even there? We’ve seen it in the strangest places and written in the strangest ways. “Vote Libertarian!” or “Josh loves Leah” under your thigh and even “This way to The Ministry of Magic” on a toilet seat.

What is it about noticing a blank space that makes our hands and brains twitch anxiously—that annoying blank space just begging to be written on.

Some people would rather draw cartoons, write an inspirational message or you’ll get those really obscure John Keats quotes you might have explicated once during an English seminar discussion.

Why not consider therapy or buy a diary—create a blog, why don’t you? Having a blog would allow you to post, literally, every strange and mindless and disturbing thought that comes to mind. You can draw your dirtiest doodles and tell the world about how you think the word UFO doesn’t make sense.

When I’m in a stall and get myself situated, I don’t want to see anyone’s angry scrawling about whom I should vote for.

I don’t care for quotes about you wondering why planet Earth was placed exactly here in the universe and why it’s provided us with perfect climate to sustain human life.

Honestly, I’m just trying to sit here at Subway and enjoy my Italian BMT without having to look down and see your quote scowling back up at me, telling me that I am wasting my life away or to run and tell my crush that I’m smitten.

I don’t care to know the solution of the matrices you practiced earlier during your math course.

And please, I beg of you, please spare me graphic drawings of genitalia glaring down at me as I sit. There is no need for me to know which sexual acts you participated in—ever. I could have lived the rest of my life peacefully without ever knowing that gritty little piece of information (thanks for that horrifying image).

People — bathroom stalls, desks and windowsills (or other surfaces that the public has access to look at) is not your personal diary. Go and get help or create a blog for yourself.

Don’t be so silly, you guys. We have so much access to social media now. Do something constructive with your doodles—show off your talent elsewhere and not in a place where human waste is excreted.

Give us a chance to see your work and your thoughts in the appropriate space. Oh, and give those who have to clean up after your mess a break.

Marge Clemente is a senior English major. She can be reached at 581-2812 or [email protected].