Oh, man. I had an awful night last night. Now that I am awake, it's ridiculous. All my fears combined into one moment of pure, exhausted panic. No really expects to be trapped in a small confined space with irrational thoughts of their imminent demise, but let's not get carried away here.
If you've read my blog, you've probably figured out I'm a full-time college student living in a small one-room dorm with my one of my best friends. Both of these things pretty much equal being overly tired at least some, if not most, of the time. I had also woken up from a coma-like state not ten minutes before the incident, and was not fully awake.
However, I don't think the excuse of being tired excuses my actions well enough.
You should also know that I'm embarrassingly ticklish or this might not make much sense. It still probably won't.
Now, we have three beds in our room. [One used to belong to a prior roommate who dropped out of school because she was secretly married to an Arabic man and couldn't tell her family. That was a stressful time since her brother lives on campus and we had to frequently cover for her absences while she'd fly to Texas to chill with her husband. You're welcome for the useless information.] They have all been pushed together in a highly unintelligent fashion into one giant bed so we have room to stretch out while still being comfortably distanced while we sleep. I say unintelligent because they are arranged in such a way that the SIDE of the bed is against the wall. The other side is about a foot from my desk in the center of the room. This means we have to awkwardly clamber over our headboard whenever we need to get in it.
Now, I'm on my end of the bed near the desk, and Roommate is situated in her spot against the wall. I don't remember all of the events leading up to the climax of this story, but I'm pretty sure as we were talking I threw a pillow in her direction and hit her in the face. She decided to retaliate.
I was pretty sure being tickled was on the menu for the next hour so I panicked, squealed, slid off my end of the bed and crawled underneath it to escape.
I don't know why I thought that would save me.
So, I slide back under the 600 mile stretch from my end of the bed to hers while she pokes her head down to look underneath. I had just missed her reach by about two millimeters.
Roommate: What are you doing?
Me: -more squealing in fear and laughter-
Roommate: There's no way out, now. You're stuck.
At this point I looked more closely at the slots on the frames of the headboards. There was no way I was going to fit. I couldn't escape. My only hope was that she'd figure I was a big enough idiot to be content with her laughter and not follow me.
Roommate: Do you really think this is going to stop me?
I vaguely remember a desperate consideration to try and get out through the bars.
I remember screaming a lot.
I remember trying to tell her to get away.
I don't remember when it stopped being funny.
I do remember my panic escalating.
I remember crying.
I remember her laughter as she slowly inched towards me bit by bit.
I remember the combined fears of tight spaces, asian horror movies and suspense creeping up on me.
I shut my eyes for a few seconds in panic, still screaming and babbling, as the tears flowed down my face. It was dark, and she didn't realize the amount of psychological trauma she was delivering.
I remember opening my eyes to see she had gotten a little bit closer.
At that moment, my mental state completely snapped. Whatever little bit there was left at that point.
And this:
Turned into this:
So I punched her in the face.
I still haven't completely decided how bad I feel about that. She, however, felt awful after she convinced me to come out from under the bed and could see the damage she had wreaked on my sanity.
I may never be the same again.
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