I woke up at 2:30 to the sound of a high pitched note repeatedly piercing the air. As I tried to clear my sleep-encrusted brain, I began to register an unfamiliar scent.
If I were a writer in the mood to bring you to a very heightened climax, leading up to a boring denouement, I would drag it out. But to prevent you from worrying about the well-being of my numerous notebooks and photos and memorabilia, I’ll say there was no fire (…the unfamiliar scent was smoke, in case my artistic license lost you). It was very strange smelling smoke, too, but my dad (former volutneer fireman) couldn’t find any fire…and the house is still standing now. The strange thing is that since my door was closed, the smoke was more condensed in my room…but my fire alarm didn’t go off. Hmmm. Methinks the battery might need changing. Also, the smoke didn’t smell like regular smoke (ie wood smoke). o.O
The disappointing thing about this whole thing is my reaction. I freaked out. Not like a panic attack or anything, but I was honestly scared. As I type that, it sounds kind of silly that I’m disappointed in that. It just reminded me of earlier yesterday I was talking to Brittany about having to deal with kids getting hurt, and how hard that will be when we’re parents.
Yet again, I’m wondering if my skull is capable of withstanding the pressure being exerted upon it (Apologies for my Eugene-esque proverbializations). The emotional stress (friends, relationships, leaving home, my own rationalizations), academic stress (can we say 17-20 minute thesis paper worth your entire Rhetoric grade to be presented from a one page outline in front of people who are supposed to try to trip you up during questioning in less than 2 months?), work stress, and just the general stress of being alive.