I was woken from a deep slumber a little before sparrows fart this morning by the Incessant wailing of a fire alarm. At least I think I was. At this point it hit me. Shit, my building's on fire. Furthermore, Shit I live on the 22nd floor - 23 if you count the mezinine. That's a lot of steps!
The moment took me back to uni days, when I, along with 200 odd others would struggle from an alcohol pervaded state of unconsciousness, down the single flight of stairs to perceived safety in the tinder box - Toohey Forest - which surrounded the residential college. All because someone was smoking a bong in their room.
This occurred surprisingly often in my 3-years of on-campus living, and I remember the inner struggle which accompanied such inappropriate awakenings very well.
Shit. what's that noise. Its warm in here. Would you shut the fuck up Dale (my neighbour). What time is it. Fuck my head hurts. I better get up. I can't feel my legs. Ok, i'm standing. Fuck my head really hurts. Where's my pants.
- All this just to live.
As i type, they're testing the alarm again. It's going to be fruity lexia from now on i reckon.
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1 comment:
Ah, college years. I shed a tear as I think of all the pain.
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