Unravel

Hi, I’m your new housemate. Watch me unravel.
Brian Wills

      Many people at this school go abroad, and I was no exception. I’ve always been particularly mundane on paper and I thought going to Galway, Ireland for a semester might add that extra dash of salt which my otherwise unappealing meal of a life lacked. Time will tell I suppose, and here I am, like many other former expatriate, back on campus. For those people who did not go abroad in the fall, the returning travelers provide plenty of unexpected fun. Things like meeting new neighbors, discovering who really let themselves go, and watching people stand confused and unsatisfied in saga. Everyone likes to see who their new neighbors are, and why not? You’ll be living together for awhile.

      The excitement quickly wears off however, when you begin to realize that your brand-new housemate is a twisted, nervy mess. Going abroad has, if anything, made me less reticent than ever and I don’t even think twice when I exercise some of my crazy idiosyncrasies, much to the chagrin of those who must share walls with me. The other day for example, I showed some poor person just how poorly I cope with the unexpected. As she walked in to our kitchen, possibly hoping to make herself a calming elixir of hot coffee and whiskey, her peace was rent by a strange, black-haired boy leaping up and hurling himself at the microwave, frantically stabbing the clear button until the display resumed its calm announcement of the time. What was his problem? Who can this unstable individual be? Well, it was me.

      I have a problem, you see. Well, actually, I have lots of problems. Maybe I’ll highlight a new one each week. But this week, I am going to dwell upon only one. You see, I have trouble with microwaves. Typically, they peacefully tell one the time, easy to read, even from across a room. Sometimes, however, Terrible things happen. Someone will unknowingly leave time on the display- usually just a few seconds- which will prevent the microwave from doing its crucial secondary duty of announcing the time of day. To most people, this isn’t even worth a second thought. To me, it is like a thousand briars tearing at my favorite sweater as I roll down the Hill of Chaos, only to be hit by the Train of Disaster at the bottom. This is, naturally, a difficult feeling to explain and I doubt my new housemate would have understood even if she had lingered to see if I regained my composure. Since all I heard were quick retreating steps fading off into the intrinsic creaks of the house, I will never know. And so, I dedicate this subservient piece of “journalism” to you, mysterious terrified stranger. This is my rebuttal to your departing steps. You have committed no sin. Unless, of course, it was you who left those two lonely seconds without any hope of use or closure, hanging perpetually until I swept in to euthanize them.

In which case, you have been warned.