Welcome To My Nightmare
This one goes out to my pal, Emma the birthday girl.
Well everybody, the play is over and I feel empty and alone. I now sit in front of this blog with a cup of cookie dough ice-cream in hand and a soap opera playing in the background...
An actual quote: "Whitney and I used to talk about coming here to Rome for our honeymoon...before we found out we were half brother and sister."
I'm just one Avril Lavigne song away from a total melt down. Pretty soon I'll start telling everyone about how, if stuffed animals had opposable thumbs, They would post on my facebook wall and tell the world what a great person I am. Where can I turn in this state but to you, internet? Embrace me with Times New Roman. Lull me to sleep with promises that, if I'm good, those "friends" I have on facebook will turn into real boys and girls. Show me shirtless pictures of Tom Welling and tell me that Jade will soon no longer be in the running towards becoming America's Next top Model. I promise I'll believe every word. I'm with you, internet. I'm with you.
I may be closer to that melt down than any of us realize. I'm two weeks away from finals and already having nightmares. Recently, I turned in a sixteen page semester long research paper about memoir and the holocaust. For two days, I was convinced that my professor had stood in front of my class of about 97 students, reading sections of it out loud and laughing, before giving it back to me with "I expected more form you, Caitlin" Written across the top in big red letters. Then I realized that my professor never writes with red ink, we hadn't gotten our papers back yet, there are only eight other kids in my class, and my teacher is around five feet tall in reality, not seven like she is in my subconscious. Needless to say, I was dreaming.
I wasn't dreaming, however when we discussed our end of the year Collegiate Chorale choir party. It will be a picnic. At that picnic, we will play a "game" called...dodgeball-volleyball. I think, if it were possible for someone to dig deep into the blackest depths of my soul, find all my greatest fears and magically assemble them in a material way involving sunshine and cruel cruel laughter, something called "dodgeball-volleyball" would be the result. All we need is a hypnotist and some mini-skirts to make the horror complete.
As a choir, we voted on this game. "That sounds fun!" one girl exclaimed. Okay missy, you tell me what sounds fun about having multiple balls pelted at you while you're trapped in an invisible vestibule of shame.
I'm not going to make a huge deal about it though. It's just one more reason for me to wake up screaming in the middle of the night so, no biggie.
Oh, the ice-cream is gone.
And so is the happiness.
Well everybody, the play is over and I feel empty and alone. I now sit in front of this blog with a cup of cookie dough ice-cream in hand and a soap opera playing in the background...
An actual quote: "Whitney and I used to talk about coming here to Rome for our honeymoon...before we found out we were half brother and sister."
I'm just one Avril Lavigne song away from a total melt down. Pretty soon I'll start telling everyone about how, if stuffed animals had opposable thumbs, They would post on my facebook wall and tell the world what a great person I am. Where can I turn in this state but to you, internet? Embrace me with Times New Roman. Lull me to sleep with promises that, if I'm good, those "friends" I have on facebook will turn into real boys and girls. Show me shirtless pictures of Tom Welling and tell me that Jade will soon no longer be in the running towards becoming America's Next top Model. I promise I'll believe every word. I'm with you, internet. I'm with you.
I may be closer to that melt down than any of us realize. I'm two weeks away from finals and already having nightmares. Recently, I turned in a sixteen page semester long research paper about memoir and the holocaust. For two days, I was convinced that my professor had stood in front of my class of about 97 students, reading sections of it out loud and laughing, before giving it back to me with "I expected more form you, Caitlin" Written across the top in big red letters. Then I realized that my professor never writes with red ink, we hadn't gotten our papers back yet, there are only eight other kids in my class, and my teacher is around five feet tall in reality, not seven like she is in my subconscious. Needless to say, I was dreaming.
I wasn't dreaming, however when we discussed our end of the year Collegiate Chorale choir party. It will be a picnic. At that picnic, we will play a "game" called...dodgeball-volleyball. I think, if it were possible for someone to dig deep into the blackest depths of my soul, find all my greatest fears and magically assemble them in a material way involving sunshine and cruel cruel laughter, something called "dodgeball-volleyball" would be the result. All we need is a hypnotist and some mini-skirts to make the horror complete.
As a choir, we voted on this game. "That sounds fun!" one girl exclaimed. Okay missy, you tell me what sounds fun about having multiple balls pelted at you while you're trapped in an invisible vestibule of shame.
I'm not going to make a huge deal about it though. It's just one more reason for me to wake up screaming in the middle of the night so, no biggie.
Oh, the ice-cream is gone.
And so is the happiness.
posted by Caitlin at 5:20 PM
7 Comments:
OK, i've given up passively stalking you. From this point forward, it's no mercy. Be warned. See, i'm calling your dorm right now. It's ringing.
Oh Caitlin . . . I hope our party and the pin the tail on the donkey cheered you up tonight. I think dodgeball-volleyball sounds like a great time! I'll go with you if that'll make you feel better. Well, that's all I have to say. Sorry, no yelling this time. :(
Maybe you should play the orange game. Eh? EH?
Yes, I think there's something missing from your nightmare. Something orange. Seriously, someone in Caitlin's choir ask her about the orange game. You won't regret it. It's 10x better than dodgeball-volleyball.
Oh, you guys are right. I can't believe I forgot the oranges. What nightmare of mine would be complete without akward forced sexual tension... I mean... "fun icebreaker games"!
Now excuse me while I repress the memory of the orange game into oblivion once more.
Oh Caitlin, I do love how you so wonderfully put things... I am slightly confused by the de-clothed Tom Welling, though... You do HATE human contact... perhaps he was just for eye candy... oh well, I suppose you have needs as a woman...
I love you and miss you so. I loved it when we shared that moment in the Madsen Center. It was special.
Post a Comment
<< Home