Friday, October 23, 2015

Storytelling: "Chaos at 1:30am"

totally random photo. kind of cool to look at, though
I've always wanted to be a great storyteller. And to an extent, I think I am. I did speech for four years in high school, and a dominant element of my primary event was storytelling. In that sense, I was quite good at storytelling--verbally articulating something that's already been written for me. I guess that means my talent is limited to recounting the stories of others--with heavy preparation. *sigh* So I'm not really much of a raconteur... The problem I have with telling my own stories is that I get too wordy--both verbally and in writing.

Something kind of funny happened in my room last night, so I want to challenge myself to tell that story. Hope it goes well. Hope you enjoy.

In my room live a total of six girls, and in my room I'm the resident old person: I mostly hang out in the room, I almost never go out at night, and I'm pretty consistently in bed by about midnight.

Yesterday was Thursday, which makes last night "Thirsty Thursday"--a party night, for those who don't know. This means that three of my roommates, who party every week, left around 11 p.m. for the frat houses. Meanwhile, I was getting ready for bed. Typical Thursday night.

I settle in under my poofy comforter. The last time I see before I fall asleep is 11:45.

I'm in this unconscious state of black stillness when I hear my roommates talking in serious tones about some guy. They usually wake me up a bit when they come back from whatever parties they were at, so, as usual, I try to fall back into my slumber. A minute or so later, I'm in this half-conscious state when I hear my roommates talking--apparently one of them is crying. I start wondering if I should get up and see what's wrong. As I consider walking into our living room to find out what's going on, I look over at my alarm clock. It's 1:30.

Okay, here's where the story complicates because I need to explain the brain of half-asleep Kuo.

For some reason, the amount of 1's in the time threw me off, so I thought I'd gone to bed at 1:45. You can imagine that I was pretty mixed up. Confused about my roommate's drama and wondering how I'd managed to go back in time, I wander into my living room--hoping  my roommates can provide clarification. One of the roommates that went to party was in the bathroom, one hadn't come home yet, and one was crying--the remaining two roommates (this brings us to a total of five roommates, six including me) were comforting her.

There were two questions on my mind: (1) Why is she crying? and, more importantly, (2) What time did I actually go to bed?

(1) Something small happened with some guy, but (as I found out this morning) in her drunken state, she vastly overreacted because the roommate who was in the bathroom told her it was a big deal in her drunken state. Hilarious. Drunk people are silly. Ha ha ha.

(2) I went to bed at 11:45, not 1:45. So I didn't time travel. Poo.

I left the living room with a "There are cookies in the drawer if you want them." (which my roommates found hilarious) and went back to sleep.

All the while, one of the roommates who had been in the living room was Skyping someone about their math midterm, so this random guy who just wanted to study for his test, was forced to witness my roommates and I as we fell subject to self-imposed mental and emotional trauma.

This morning, as we recounted what happened, we couldn't help but laugh at how absolutely stupid the whole thing was--especially because we all took everything so seriously. Like literally, my roommate was sobbing, and I was ridiculously confused.

Oy. We're a mess, but I really love living with all of them.


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