retainer
When I came out of the bathroom, my roommate walked up to me and patted my shoulder.
"Hey, buddy, the room is outta control," he said. "You should go clean it up. There's no place to stand."
At that moment I almost exploded. But I didn't; instead, I just muttered I know I know like I normally do when I'm pissed, and walked off.
Before I explain more, I'll just go ahead and say that I'm feeling much better now. But at the time, I was feeling the culmination of all the stress left over from Hell Week, which was last week, and a new crisis that had just come up.
Last week was Hell Week because I had pit orchestra rehearsals from 7 to 11 every evening. Being in a musical was fun in high school, and I signed up knowing well in advance the huge time commitment it would be. And it's not that Gypsy hasn't been a whole lot of fun. It's just that I've seen the three hour show like eight times by now. I'm begining to feel the same as when they used to put on the same Barney or Anne tape day after day at the after school daycare center Mom used to send me to: jaded.
Everything seemed to go wrong last week. I ended up canceling things left and right to make room for Gypsy. Yet another quintet rehearsal got cancelled for this and that reason, so we still hadn't played as a group yet. Then IT authorities cracked down on me for downloading movies. I told Leslie at my lesson that it was a small miracle I had gotten practice time in at all--my freshman seminar just happened to be canceled that day.
But that was last week, and now things had settled down, and so had I, or so I thought. I came home from work ready to take a break. I took off my coat and gloves and checked my email. In my inbox was five more copies of the latest "Hi" virus. Then I noticed for the first time that I was developing a canker sore from all the playing hours I clocked last week. In addition my teeth had moved. So I grabbed my purple retainer case off the dresser and opened it--empty. I panicked. I checked my dirty dishes pile. Nothing. I threw all my dirty laundry on the floor and checked all the pockets. Nothing. I sorted through the trash can with my hand, checking each bit of refuse by hand before putting it in another plastic bag to throw away. Still nothing. Suddenly my body sent me a signal, and I knew I had to go to the bathroom. It was at this point that my roommate happened to walk in and see what was going on. When he innocently told me to clean up, I wanted to jump in his face and yell how he had no right to tell me that I'm messy. That I'm the one who always has to vaccuum his shit up because he won't do it himself. But I didn't; instead, I silently marched back to the room and began picking up all the crap I had scattered all the floor.
Not ten minutes later, I found it. I had put away all the laundry except for my gloves and scarf still lying by my desk. I picked up my scarf, and there it was: a curved piece of metal attached to a blob of clear purple plastic, with bits of grimy food particles caked on its surface. I immediately took it to the bathroom and scrubbed it under the faucett with a toothbrush. I put it in the only place it wouldn't get lost: in my mouth. It's embarrassing how such a little thing had me so worked up and bitter, if only for a short time.
"Hey, buddy, the room is outta control," he said. "You should go clean it up. There's no place to stand."
At that moment I almost exploded. But I didn't; instead, I just muttered I know I know like I normally do when I'm pissed, and walked off.
Before I explain more, I'll just go ahead and say that I'm feeling much better now. But at the time, I was feeling the culmination of all the stress left over from Hell Week, which was last week, and a new crisis that had just come up.
Last week was Hell Week because I had pit orchestra rehearsals from 7 to 11 every evening. Being in a musical was fun in high school, and I signed up knowing well in advance the huge time commitment it would be. And it's not that Gypsy hasn't been a whole lot of fun. It's just that I've seen the three hour show like eight times by now. I'm begining to feel the same as when they used to put on the same Barney or Anne tape day after day at the after school daycare center Mom used to send me to: jaded.
Everything seemed to go wrong last week. I ended up canceling things left and right to make room for Gypsy. Yet another quintet rehearsal got cancelled for this and that reason, so we still hadn't played as a group yet. Then IT authorities cracked down on me for downloading movies. I told Leslie at my lesson that it was a small miracle I had gotten practice time in at all--my freshman seminar just happened to be canceled that day.
But that was last week, and now things had settled down, and so had I, or so I thought. I came home from work ready to take a break. I took off my coat and gloves and checked my email. In my inbox was five more copies of the latest "Hi" virus. Then I noticed for the first time that I was developing a canker sore from all the playing hours I clocked last week. In addition my teeth had moved. So I grabbed my purple retainer case off the dresser and opened it--empty. I panicked. I checked my dirty dishes pile. Nothing. I threw all my dirty laundry on the floor and checked all the pockets. Nothing. I sorted through the trash can with my hand, checking each bit of refuse by hand before putting it in another plastic bag to throw away. Still nothing. Suddenly my body sent me a signal, and I knew I had to go to the bathroom. It was at this point that my roommate happened to walk in and see what was going on. When he innocently told me to clean up, I wanted to jump in his face and yell how he had no right to tell me that I'm messy. That I'm the one who always has to vaccuum his shit up because he won't do it himself. But I didn't; instead, I silently marched back to the room and began picking up all the crap I had scattered all the floor.
Not ten minutes later, I found it. I had put away all the laundry except for my gloves and scarf still lying by my desk. I picked up my scarf, and there it was: a curved piece of metal attached to a blob of clear purple plastic, with bits of grimy food particles caked on its surface. I immediately took it to the bathroom and scrubbed it under the faucett with a toothbrush. I put it in the only place it wouldn't get lost: in my mouth. It's embarrassing how such a little thing had me so worked up and bitter, if only for a short time.