Life
has been giving me lemons lately, and when God throws me something bitter I
like to made Victorian lemonade and pass some out to all of my friends. I’ve
heard that doing something nice for others tends to make you feel good about
yourself too, and so when bad things happen I try and be especially nice to
others. Usually this doesn’t work, because I end up having panic attacks, but
this is the goal—and besides, Victorian lemonade’s no good for you anyway, as it is made of some gin and way too much sugar and a bit of lemon juice, so it is better to be nice than to get your friends drunk. But
last night when I went to bed I was determined that today I would be put
together, cheerful, positive, and somewhat grounded.
So
it was a surprise when the first words out of my mouth this morning were, “What
is wrong with you?!”
Let
me set the scene. I’m safely snuggled in bed, warm and cozy. I’ve just emerged
from a dream, and at that point that I could roll over and fall right back
where I left off. I was dreaming that I was in Dublin to visit Hannah’s very
own library. She was showing me around the ancient texts when she said, “Hold
on, I have a surprise for you,” and she opened a door and revealed Tom
Hiddleston, staring at a chess board. He was rather surly in my dream, and not
as nice as he seems in real life, but Tom Hiddleston is Tom Hiddleston, even if
he is crabby, and I was really hoping I would fall back asleep and keep
dreaming about British movie stars.
I
had almost returned to Dublin when Brooke’s phone started going off, loudly and
insistently. This was annoying, but not unduly so; Tom Hiddleston was only a
few seconds away….
Something
fell. “Shoot!” Brooke said. I heard the creaking of springs, suggesting she
took a dive, and then what sounded like books toppling over.
Somewhere
in my muddled mind I wondered, Is Brooke
all right? and What happened? What’s
wrong? but I also knew, at this point, that Tom Hiddleston was gone and he
was not coming back.
And
so I shouted, “What is wrong with
you?!”
Brooke’s
first response was to be churlish back, but I’m guessing she looked over and
saw that my eyes were still shut, and so her voice softened.
I
fell asleep again.
Next
thing I know, Brooke has left the room (what the heck, man, Brooke never gets
up before I do!) and her phone is vibrating. Loudly. I got up, blind, and
managed to find her phone and turn it off. I settled back into bed, hoping I could
at least go back to sleep, even if it was a dreamless one. Brooke returned, and
for what was probably an hour I managed to chill out in that hazy zone between
sleep and wakefulness.
I
woke up again about nine. Brooke was having trouble with her computer. Without scrambling
for my glasses, I fumbled and found my laptop, found my way to blackboard, and
handed it to Brooke. “Here,” I mumbled, “use mine. I’ll print your homework off
for you.”
Now
that I was up, and Brooke had gotten her paper printed, she went back to bed
and I set about getting ready for my day. I had a 15 minute presentation due at
4:00 that afternoon, and I was already dreading it. I finished getting ready
for work in half an hour, but couldn’t stay in the room worrying, pacing
silently. I left, and wound up in the Campus Ministry office.
Patrick
Waters, our new CM leader, was there, and he listened very patiently to my list
of woes, and then told me the story of his heart attack, which happened when I
was in Northern Ireland. I decided to try and spread the metaphorical Victorian
Lemonade, and told him how worried everyone was when he was sick and how much
light he’s brought to Campus Ministry. This surprised him, so I took my leave
and ate a poptart in the Take 5. I still ended up a half an hour early to work,
but this was fine by me.
Unfortunately,
I was only at work for four hours. Then I left, choked down dinner, and lurked
around upstairs, where I was kidnapped by my old Japanese teacher. I am deathly
afraid of him. Ever since he made me cry last year, I’ve been on pins and
needles around him—I won’t cross my legs, slouch, or even use contractions in
his presence.
After
that ordeal, I had to go to class and be the first person to present on the
History of Pre-English. Luckily, I did not faint (which was
something I was actually worried about) or throw up (which hasn’t happened
before, but you never know). In fact, I think I was pretty clear. At any rate,
my professor seemed really happy, and it was over. Amen.
So
as a reward for getting my homework done I got to spend a (mostly) worry-free evening in the old Contamination Room of
the asylum I call home. The Contamination Room, now my friend Nicole’s room,
was used for students who were ill. They would stay in isolation in the room,
and it’s sort of left a weird mark on the aura of the walls. Unfortunately, by eleven we were all exhausted, Elisabeth had gone paranoid, and I was dozing on Nicole's chair.
Anyway, bedtime for me--I've got to try and sort out my problems tomorrow morning.
If I am lucky, I'll be back in Dublin with Tom Hiddleston, playing chess whilst surrounded by books. If I'm really lucky, Brooke won't wake me up tomorrow, and if I'm blessed, my troubles will resolve in the morning.
But for now: Victorian lemonade.
Please note again that I live on a dry campus, I am under the legal drinking age, and Victorian lemonade is an elaborate metaphor for my problems.
