The Loudest Clock In The Universe Happens To Be In My Dorm Room

As far as roommates go, there are few that could even dream of holding a light to Jerry Singleton. I've only been bunked with him for four days but I'm very confident in this appraisal. He has good taste in music, doesn't snore (like that matters to me), and Halo is his favorite way of avoiding homework too. He and his girlfriend Lisa always go back to her room for any private time, never wanting to inconvenience me. And any time he visits his parents, he always brings back some home-cooked food for us to share. He maintains a 3.2 GPA and during the summer he volunteers as a camp counselor for elementary kids. Jerry Singleton is a good guy and is going to do great things with his life.


But if he doesn't take down that damn clock by tomorrow night, I'm going to rip out his throat and dance in the fountainous crimsonicity of his life force as it rains down on me, covering me in a beautiful coat of red deliciousness.

And I'll also crush the stupid clock.

What sucks is there's no easy way to tell him this. I've mentioned its ticking before, but neither he nor his friends seem to notice it. Sure, maybe to them it sounds like a harmless nothing, only able to even imagine the sounds of the ticking if they're staring right at the clock, watching the second hand move. But I can hear it. All day long. Loud as someone tapping their fingernail on a desk once every Mississippi. It's almost as loud as that guy who lives next door to us when he's doinkling one of his lady friends. Jerry doesn't seem to notice that too often either. I call bullshit on that. My hearing is great but you'd have to be deaf to not hear Brandon's monkey calls. Seriously, he sounds like a monkey, ooh-oohing and ah-ahing his way through the night. There are a million jokes about a banana I could insert here, but that would be way too trite.

Errgh. And now I'm frustrated. And that makes me thirsty. Which I can't fix. Which makes me more frustrated.

Sometimes college really sucks. Why do modern campuses have to be so safe? There's this guy named Cal we talk about alot in group. Cal had started skipping meetings, annoyed with the whole message of clean living, and attempted to get back to his roots. He made his way into a house party and, after having one too many Irish carbombs, openly attacked a drunk girl in the jacuzzi. A whole slew of partygoers intervened. Cal tried to fight them all off, but the drinking and withdrawal had made him weak. They beat the hell out of Cal trying to detain him until the police showed up. Last I heard Cal was still in jail. Now in group we have a saying: "Learn from Cal. Don't let withdrawal be your kryptonite."

I sympathize with him though. It can be tough to ignore that kind of gnawing at your insides. We just have to learn to be strong, find ways to take our minds off of it. That's why I like video games. They give me an outlet to do untold amounts of violence, relieving weeks of pent-up aggression in a matter of minutes, without anyone actually being hurt. Plus it keeps me humble: I can't count all the thirteen-year-olds who have completely obliterated my ass during Call Of Duty marathons. As much as I hate their yomamma-esque taunts in my headset, I appreciate the release of all that tension. For now, gaming works, but sometimes I have dreams that it's only temporary, that the withdrawal will tear away at my soul and make me something I really don't want to be. If that happens, I'm gonna buy a bong and smoke all my problems away.... Come to think of it, I just might do that anyway.

And if it works, I'll suggest it to the group. A hookah party might be a good distraction from all the talking about withdrawal.