Which is totally weird to me. I don't know what's going on. I guess the dungeons grow on you. I only noticed the fact that I like our cozy lil prison this morning. I'm leaving town for a week, and as I was getting ready to go, I looked around and thought "I'm excited to leave, but now that I'm going to, I kinda don't want to! I like this stupid, cramped, scrict, inconvenient little place!"
WHAT?! I thought I hated the dorms! My roomates and I were seriously contemplating cancelling our contracts and moving off-campus in January. The only reason we didn't do it is because we are all poor and would lose money if we went through with it. We spent nights sitting around and just silently hating the dorms. We spent afternoons walking around downtown looking for prospective homes. We spent evenings in the Galley choking down the same thing we had been for the last 9 weeks, and hating every minute of it. (Actually, that's sort of a lie...the Galley DOES have unlimited cereal, and some of us--I ain't naming any names--were perfectly content if a certain curly-haired photographer happened to drop in...) But the point is this...we didn't like it here. At all.
Apparently, I don't know myself very well. I guess if something's annoying enough, you begin to like it. That must be it, because I never thought I'd see the day when I left the dorms for a week and missed them. Maybe I'll snap out of it when I'm in an actual house with an actual kitchen and stuff. I haven't experienced that in so long maybe I forgot what I'm missing.
ADDENDUM: This is totally unrelated to living in the dorms. For the sake of your own amusement, I would also like to include in this entry, "The Tale of the Chipmunk," a little story co-authored by myself and my roomate Jen during my political science class today.
"The Tale of The Chipmunk"
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful chipmunk. She liked cheese and pickles. One day a large and evil carton of eggnog came tromping into town. He was furious because the purple goose had just eaten his french toast. "Darn you, goose! I'll get you next time!" he cried. Just then, a rumble came from the stomach of the goose. An outrageous french accent..."I LIVE!" cried the purple toast! (It was french toast origonally, but being inside a purple goose would turn anyone purple.) The purple french toast leapt out of the purple goose's mouth and screamed "Would you like to hear my thoughts on fiscal policies?" They shrug. THE END.
1 comment:
Gasp!
You are missing ze dorms! Zis is ccccrazy talk!
Well, at least you're enjoying yourself even if you don't realize it. :)
I like your story, by the way. It is glorious.
Have fun (here) in Oregon!
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