Awkward happens. In strange, often mysterious ways. Usually the lights are out. Or they are on, which is even worse. The potential for accidentally stumbling into a room full of awkward jello rises exponentially when one is living with another person. If you have never co-habited with another human being, look at one of your cats. He is probably licking himself while sitting on a pile of your clothes. Now imagine that is person. Keep in mind cats don’t wear clothes. If you still can’t understand the social implications of this situation, and also your entire face is numb, that’s good. It means your pills are working. Try typing with your forehead. No no, you have to smack the keyboard as hard as you can if you want the words to make sense.
The reason that you are so much more likely to encounter a wild awkward probably nude moment when you are living with someone else is because you have access to their “private time”. So when they are dancing to the aTeens in their underpants and swinging around a kettle, you have the ability to just unlock that door and walk in. It’s even worse when you share a room. Then, if you want to do something, say sleep, you have to try to ignore their fashion show set to Metallica, which strangely doesn’t involve any clothing. I guess it’s imaginary. I just so happen to live in the same room as another person. We like to call it this cool word we made up, “dormroom”. What a funny, yet subtly evil word we have created.
Dormroom, means a tiny little box in which you are supposed to live for eight months. It contains your bed, your desk, television, food, bathroom, and ceiling. Everything you have or would ever need is in this square niche. What already sounds like some depraved psychological experiment, about how quickly one can go insane, is complicated by the addition of another organism into your dormroom. Not just any organism, but another human being. Now instead of unethical, yet still scientific, psychologists performing the experiment, it’s two six year olds who want to see which will kill the other first. I sleep with a knife in my pants. A least, that what I have to tell him, otherwise the mornings would be really uncomfortable for the both of us. It is quite odd living with a stranger. I rarely speak to him, mostly I just observe him from my corner of the room, taking notes on his mannerisms in case I detect a change in behavior, so I can finish him off before he turns zombie. He comes and goes like the wind, and makes a point to move anything I left out. To anyone else it would be unnoticeable, but I KNOW HE TOUCHED MY THINGS! Regardless, I barely know this person, although I am pretty sure that he is part ghost. Not all ghost of course. That would be ridiculous. My point is:
I was exorcised by my roommate.
Also some of his friends. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. However, before I can explain that, I need to cover some history.
I was born in the winter of ’93, it was a cold one, and I remember it well. While the snow gusted about in drifts outside my home, I was exploring this new world full of lights and sounds with these cool organs I didn’t even know I had before. I’ll call them eyes. The view got pretty boring quick though, because I wasn’t able to move my head. What a drag. I had to wait for the giants to come and move me so that I could look at something interesting again. Then I would scream, because colors are fucking scary. I mean seriously, there I was, enjoy a nice beige wall when BAM! A deluge of primary colors is spinning in front of my face and they look like they are going to HIT me, which will HURT. When I’m done screaming, I realize colors are awesome, and giggle while I poop myself. Those were the days. Unbeknownst to me; however, a demon had snuck it’s way into my soul, taking advantage of my blissful days of complex interactions with colors.
The demon stayed in my soul for years, lasting through elementary school, explaining middle school, and making me popular in high school. I never knew it existed, probably because I didn’t want to know. Losing it would be like losing a part of myself, not matter how horribly evil. I found out about its existence because of my dear old roommate. I would like to say it was from my roomie, but sadly he did not tell me himself. Probably because he got all choked up every time he tried. Or not. What he did do was tell all of his friends about my possession. I think they were all jealous. Needless to say, I eventually discovered his findings through the wiretap that I had, like all good roommates, placed on his phone. The news hit me like an empty pillowcase, and I promptly forgot about. Possibly due to massive head trauma. While the rumor kept coming back to me through my spy network, I never paid it much heed, that is, until the other night.
I needed to get into my room. Clothes lay in my drawer that I need to wear, because the clothes currently worn by my body, while the fit in a flattering fashion, did not meet the dress requirements of the even I wanted to attend. A pajama/star wars costume party. For some people, it’s the same thing. When I arrived at my door, I had to take pause. Incredibly loud Christian music thudded through the door of my dormroom, astoundingly drowning out the rumbling bassline of the incessant rap next door. As I pressed my ear to the door I heard my roommate, preaching loudly and with conviction, yelling to whom I could only assume were the members of his bible study. I considered entering when I heard him announce that he was going to speak in tongues, and that God should be so kind as to provide an interpreter. I hesitated to enter, lest they decide that I happened to be that interpreter. Not even having taken beginning tongues, I wisely waited in the hallway, watching the time tick away.
Twenty minutes later I got bored. So I decided to go into my room anyway, regardless of the odd, hoarse chanting emanating from it’s depths. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found. No, it wasn’t a pentagram with a hideous pelican monster inside, just a bunch of football players lying prostrate while my roommate touched all of them. Now I understand all the confusion with those Catholic priests. Come on kids, he only touched you there because he was praying. The sight of this froze me in my tracks. I decided to curl up in a ball, and hope that in the darkness they would fail to notice me.
Unsurprisingly, this plan worked. I bided my time in the fetal position until I saw one of the huge men stand up, and exit the room. I saw an opening in the ensuing confusion and made a dash for my clothes. I never made it. Before I could so much as snag a pair of Jar Jar underpants, the bible study surrounded me, my roommate at the head. He asked if he could pray for me. Being the polite gentleman I am, I agreed, dumbfounded, as I considered my predicament, cowering in the middle of a ring of people much larger than me. I peed a little. Or a lot. I can’t remember. They put their hands on me, and started to chant.
It started quietly, and then slowly built. At first it was all gibberish, because they never had found that interpreter. Luckily for me, they switched to English about ten minutes in. If my pants were not yet soiled, they sure as hell were now. There were praying to REMOVE A DEMON FROM MY SOUL. My thoughts flashed immediately back to all those rumors I had heard. Why hadn’t I taken them seriously?!? THERE WERE EVIL THINGS INSIDE ME. I freaked out for a good half an hour. My eyes might have rolled back into my head. But I know for a fact I only spun my head around one time. So not even a big deal. At the end there was this horrendous ripping noise, the power went out on the block, and a huge red velociraptor crawled out of my throat. Rather anticlimactic really.
No, no, this is my OLD roommate! I would never write about someone I am currently living with on the internet! Talk about unprofessional.