Tuesday, October 11, 2011

An Admittance

This story is embarrassing. I feel compelled to share it only to beat my roommate to the punch, who takes great pleasure in telling it to everyone and anyone she meets. So I need to act fast, keep this joke in my hands. Laugh with them before they all just laugh at me, point at me, snicker at me, and I inevitably burst into tears and write scathing death poems about them all. So, for their safety and my sanity, I shall persist.

You know that place, somewhere caught between dreams and wakefulness? Everything's hazy and only half-present, but you feel almost conscious? It's like an in-between land. And that's where I was late last night/early this morning.

I was snuggled in bed, mostly asleep, but everything felt real and...present. I was dreaming, but I was in my room. My roommate was there. I remember it feeling really real. And I don't remember what exactly I was dreaming, but I remember feeling like I was awake--even recognizing on some level that I was awake. And--here it comes--I...I....

Oh, give me strength.

I smacked my lips lightly, leaned forward eagerly, hugged my pillow tightly and whispered dreamily, "Look at all the cute puppies."

My roommate giggled. My heart stopped. I became suddenly aware that this was the place of wakefulness; I was no longer dreaming. And I mumbled an explanation, still half-asleep, but my roommate laughed harder. So I closed my eyes tightly and willed myself back to that place of rest. And I didn't wake up again until my roommate was up in the morning, out at the bathroom, and she laughed and said, "Guess what Shelby said last night?"

All morning, I was serenaded by a chorus of LOLs. One roommate, two roommates, the roommate. They couldn't get enough of it. My direct roommate--the one doing all the giggly reporting--couldn't get through the phrase without collapsing into a ROFL.

At least that's what it sounded like. I couldn't be sure; I stayed hidden in bed for the next half hour, waiting for them to leave because I didn't want to face them. But I will no longer bow my head in shame, nor cower before the jeers. I stand with pride and with dignity and announce without shame, "Look at all the cute puppies!"

So, yeah, I dream about puppies. In this corrupted world, is that something to be humiliated by? Nay, I say. Nay. It could have been worse. ...Maybe not funnier, but most definitely worse. All this means is I dream of cute puppies. My roommates must be jealous, but I will not be ashamed.

I mean, it could be like a metaphor for life. The new glass-half-full mantra: do, please, look at all the cute puppies.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Satan Hath Possessed Me

Last, last week my contacts were bugging me. My eyes were getting all pukey and pink and totally nast. So I threw them out and wore glasses for a week. I was going for a sort of clense, you know. And it worked. So I thought on Sunday I'd put in some new contacts. And I did.

Looked super sexy, too. 
I have witnesses if you don't believe it.

So I was happy to be all wide-eyed again. Only, today I woke up with bloodshot eyes. But I thought, whatever, and I put in my contacts.

Looked super sexy, too. 
I was wearing cerulean blue, which always works for me.

I went to class, I went to class, I had a break, I went to class. And then I went to work. But I stopped in the restroom, did my thing, washed my hands, looked up in the mirror. BOOM. A freak of nature looked right back at me. Everything was fine except for the fact that my eyes were red. The whites were were blood red, angry veins sprouting and spilling across the vastness, tainting what was once so pure. To make things worse, I have green eyes. And in my cerulean blue, they tend to stand out; and against bright red, they just really shine.

It was like Christmas all up in there. 

I had a mini panic attack I made faces in the mirror, poked myself in the eyes, folded my arms in defiance. People glanced at me awkwardly, but I just scowled at myself, just me and my Satan eyes.

I thought, maybe they aren't noticeable from a distance; maybe they just need some water and, like a reverse plague of Egypt, they would clear again. But that didn't work. And they were noticeable. So I avoided eye contact. I shook my bangs in front of my face. I stared at my feet. I thought maybe it was an allusion. But then I decided I had to be the one to joke about it before someone else did. So I walked into work and laughed, saying, "Holy crap, guys, I have satan eyes."

They laughed, I laughed; I whined, they still laughed. I tried to go about the day, but my one coworker was like, "No, those are really bad. You look evil. I can't even trust you. How sick is that? I can't believe you're going to sit up front looking like that. I literally can't stop staring at you. You repulse me."


So I finally clocked out, ran (read: walked quickly-ish) home, boiled my contact case, rubbed my contacts in solution, put them away, put on my glasses....and grabbed a quick lunch.

It didn't help. My eyes are still red and now they hurt more. As if my contacts were shields, protecting the majority of my eyes from the creeping nature of the pulsing red. So now my entire eye is probably just this orb of red.

Plus they itch. And I wish that they weren't so freaky. And I feel like I have to buy all new eye makeup now if it is...that one thing that makes your eyes go red and people avoid it. So it's just all around not good.

I blame Satan. 
He's always had it out for me.