Meghan: It's the end of the wold as we know it

I blinked down sleepily at the papers stacked on my folded knees. My chemistry notes stared back at me; words I had read a hundred times and problems I had done a thousand more. But I was doing them again, yippee. But as I traced my finger across the paper a rattled breathe came from my right and reminded me that I wasn’t here just to study for my finals. Amanda lay twisted on the couch next to me, with her boyfriend Jason sitting on the floor next to her; clutching her hand. He made sure she breathed while I made sure her pulse still beat. Really, the chemistry was just a distraction, something to pet with my hands while I watched the flutter in her neck beat at impossible rates, then slow down to normal, feeling my pulse speed up with it.
As long as it doesn’t stop, they said, as long as it doesn’t stop.
And then her breathing; choked, gasping, coughing. Teas and cough drops and pills, but no, no, not the hospital. Too much money, too much trouble, for not enough results. We commandeered one of the dorm’s lounges because we have no place to nurse our sick bird back to health. And there we have been for the week, studying, bringing food, watching horror movies, and chasing away irritating girls who want to watch TV and bake cookies. I think…I should get some medical training. Like emergency response, medications, etc. Just because I want to save animals doesn’t mean I can’t save people too. At least the ones I like.

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine."

though it's 1:30am in the morning which may have something to do with that

-Meghan

Meghan: Office hours

Office hours. Such a wonderful time in which we can get to know our teachers and bond with them. They even get to know our names. I don’t really understand the point of that because we’ll only be in their class for one semester but…oh well. Anyway, today I meandered over to meet with my Biology teacher to thrash out some issues with the circulatory and respiratory systems. We talked about the direction of blood flow, and pumping cycles, all very exciting things to behold (to Bio majors, I’m not sure how you people feel about it). And we started to talk about insect respiration. This may sound stupid, but suck it up, you have to listen to it. I was fascinated to learn that insects didn’t have lungs, they had lots of tiny vessels that opened into their skin by which they absorbed oxygen from the air. Sort of like amphibians breathing through their skin but…different.
“That’s fantastic,” I said enthusiastically, “So if you dipped an insect in honey it would suffocate?”
She just blinked at me for a minute and I thought over what I had said. Oh. That would be considered socially unacceptable, neh? Oops.
“You must have been a sadistic little child.”
I laughed. I liked this teacher, she’s fun.

-Meghan

Meghan: unstable?

“If the defendant would please restate her case?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Hendricks, but I just couldn’t help myself.”
“You couldn’t help yourself Ms. Bentz?”
“She was asking for it.”
The man in the crisp grey suit who had been pacing in front of the witness stand pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Are you saying that your suitemate literally asked you to knock her unconscious with a hammer and tie her up in a closet?”
“Well, no. But I’m sure it made her a better person fundamentally. It was for her sake really.”
The man just stared at the bright eyed girl in front of him for a few moments, “If you would please explain?” he asked in a strangled voice.
“Well, it’s hard to sum up in just a few words.” She sighed heavily and clasped her hands in her lap, “I can only say that it built from many nights of loud music, phone conversations, and screechy singing.” A tear slid down her cheek, “I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Titters could be heard from the jury, and a security guard came forward with a box of tissues.
“Thank you.” She said in a hoarse voice as she dabbed at her eyes.
The lawyer ran a hand through his hair, looking from the jury to the crying defendant, “Would you say that you are emotionally unstable?”
“Yes.”
He blinked, “Oh. Then…”
“But isn’t everyone emotionally unstable? It’s more interesting that way.”
“Would you say that this instability led to your attack on your suitemate?”
“No, I think she’s just irritating. Or maybe it’s the fact that we have to live together in tiny rooms with thin walls. Whoever’s brilliant idea that was, that is who is at fault.”
“But there are plenty of people who don’t attack their roommates and suitemates.”
“She’ll grow up with a healthy respect for noise pollution. In fact I’d like to counter sue.”
The man looked at her, confused, “What? What for?”
“Emotional trauma.”
“But you attacked her.”
“Physically. But emotional damage is so much more crippling than physical, don’t you think?”
“You are unstable.”
“See you in court.”

-Meghan

Meghan: Chocolate Festival

I think I’m going to die.

There’s no way that someone could eat as much chocolate as I have in the past hour and still live, it’s just not possible.

And I type this as I lick curls of fudge from my spoon. I’m seriously going to be the death of me someday. (Ah, the irony)

Today was our school’s annual Chocolate Festival. Upon hearing of its occurrence I was so excited, I planned to get tickets and gas the place with nitrous oxide so that I could just take it all…

But then I forgot. Because I’m an idiot with the memory of a goldfish. And so, one fine day the floor of our dorm was doing a little group-bonding session and visiting the solar house, when some of my suitemates started talking excitedly about the choco-festival signup. I expressed my excitement for the sweets that I was sure to plunder and they looked at me with the sad look that said, ‘Meghan, you idiot.’ So I ran to my mentor and pleaded with her on a bended knee to let me sign up late. I swear there were tears in my eyes. She did (thankyouthankyouthankyou!) and I danced around with my ticket clenched in a victorious fist while onlookers stared in confusion.

And so, days passed. And on the bright sunny day of a Chemistry quiz (today), I was sitting on a table a minute before class, typing absently on my laptop, when two of my friends came up with pink boxes balanced in their hands. One of them is in a sorority, so I thought it was some sororo thing that I did not hear of or understand, but I asked anyway.

“What’s if the pink boxes?”

They smiled happily, “Chocolate Festival.”

I stared at them for a heartbeat. Then I stared out at the stairs which I would have to run down to sprint to the building where the Festival was. Then I stared at the Chemistry room where the quiz was to be held. Stairs. Chem room. Stairs. Chem room. Chocolate or quiz? Oh, fuck that.

“WATCH MY STUFF!” I yelled before I took off down the corridor.

It wasn’t just a simple matter of stairs. First I had to go down the stupid elevator, then I went down the stairs, then I ran through the free expression tunnel, up some stairs, down a street, down some stairs, into the building, up more stairs, then I was at the stupid place. Once I was in I soaked in the aura and forgot my imminent quiz, taking a little pink box and some ‘how to perform your own breast examination’ pamphlets from the nice people at the front. Oh, did I not mention? It wasn’t just free chocolate; it was a way to lure in women to be forced to learn about breast cancer. These people were smart. We couldn’t resist such a well-laid trap, and they knew it. But I didn’t have time so I just sort of grabbed the papers and walked very quickly around to the different tables, picking up samples and having my card stamped. There were fountains of chocolate, giant cakes, platters of cookies and brownies (and blondies, what are blondies?). I hope they had medics standing by in case anyone suffered a stroke or heart attack.

Once I had my spiffy box full I had to walk quickly back to class (no more tearing through the crowd, dodging the people). Luckily the quiz was at the end of class and Meghan lived happily ever after. Except that she’s going to die of chocolate overdose. But that’s such a good way to go…

"It is unbecoming for young men to utter maxims."

Aristotle

-Meghan

Meghan: Bullshit

The class is bullshit, pure bullshit. I don’t even know why we do it. But that aspect applies to much of life does it not? The project: create a poster that showed your values in life. Ha. Put all of my values down on a tiny scrap of paper and then explain those values to a bunch of people my age? You might as well ask me to go find the Holy Grail; I would have about the same success. So we grouped in our little flocks to impart valuable knowledge unto our brethren and I prepared to impart some worthless b.s. ‘So, what is it that you value in your life?’

‘Well, I find that both family and religion are pillars that help hold me up whenever I need it.’

I looked up from where I had been drawing pagan symbols on my hand.

‘What about you?’

I looked at their happy faces; these people who found peace in the church, who had loving supportive families, who were happy with their simple ‘normal’ lives.

What the hell was I supposed to tell them? The truth? The very idea was laughable. I knew what would happen if I told them what really made me happy. Their faces would slowly freeze; features taking a painted look. Then their eyes would shift from painted to nervous. You know the type, the maybe-I-shouldn’t-be-talking-to-this-person-nervous. Next their faces shut down to a polite smile topped with worried, scornful eyes. They’ve come to their conclusion: you’re crazy. You’re just another loony-tune caught up in your own little world, and their little world does not have to deal with your little world.

‘What about you?’

I smiled, and laughed a little, ‘I love my friends and having fun.’

Understatement of my life

-Meghan

Meghan: college...

Who would want to read my blog?
That was my first thought when I was asked to write this thing. I mean, sure everyone loves to yack about themselves on a continual basis but it takes a rare individual to read the blather and choke out loving sympathy. If I vomit out my thoughts onto a piece of paper it ain’t going to be pretty, and I doubt that there will be old folk dabbing at their eyes and squeezing my hand. Yes, I know, I’m a bitter and crabby young thing; life just can’t be that full of gloom and glum. It’s full of butterflies and rainbows and happy frolicking children. However I’ve recently moved into a tiny concrete room and I’m not feeling all that charitable towards the world right now. That’s right, I’ve started college. A college that for some reason has an air conditioning fetish so I sit here wrapped like an angry turtle in three blankets with just my head and hands poking out. Laugh it up people. But you’ll find that I’m dangerous even in my snug state. I could throw a coffee mug at you, or just roll on top of you until you’re smothered. In fact that’s just how I plan to kill the hobos that will creep in if one of my suit-mates leaves the door open. Yes hobos, our RA warned us and we are prepared. Be afraid, be very afraid. However if you don’t attack me I will be more than happy to serve you tea and cookies.
-Meghan