Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and How I Know I've made it in this World.



Item one- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Contrary to your guesses, I do not refer to events that may or may not have happened in Sanford last night.

I do refer to a now-infamous incident that occured on Thursday Nov. 10, 2005. As my schedule demands me to be two places at once, I was on my way from Redcoat rehearsal to change clothes for a jazz band concert which was scheduled to occur in 20 minutes (however, as jazz concerts often do, it did not occur in said 20 minutes). I had two options- the dressing room in the PAC, or the bathrooms in the SOM. I chose poorly. I imagined the dressing rooms to actually be filled with important people... such as the faculty also scheduled to play in this concert. So I was off to the women's restroom. And so I have this problem. I don't like anything I own to actually touch bathroom floors. Especially school of music bathroom floors. However, modern bathrooms come with little hooks to hang things on, like for instance, purses. Now I am no physics major, but I can usually tell whether a post is ergonomically safe for purses. Here was my fatal error. My purse is on the hook for no longer than a few seconds, just long enough for me to feel that there is no chance that it will touch the bathroom floor, when in slow motion i see one handle slip of the hook. Noooooooo! I try to reach for it but instead merely deflect a falling menagerie of purse-like items. For example, my little cell phone. Time is still in slow motion at this point. My phone bounces off of my hand and flies precariously towards... no it can't be...yes.... the TOILET!!!!!!! I audibly gasped and lunged for a second deflection, but i was too late. I watched the phone make contact with the toilet seat.

Now one of two things could have happened.
Scenario one: Phone bounces away from the toilet and onto the floor, in which case there are recovery options.
Scenario two: Phone bounces into the toilet. There are no options after this. The phone would still be there, to this very day. It would be dead to me, unsave-able, forever unrecoverable.


By some chance of fate and physics, the phone bounced onto the floor. This is when time returns to normal speed. I think I may have stared at the phone for about 3 minutes, weighing my options. I remember that I have some leftover supplies from my trip to europe... yes, an antibacterial handtowel. I pick up the phone with this and give it a once-over. Four times. Then, i dropped it back in my purse. My breathing rate did not return back to normal for several hours. After the (very long) concert, I returned home. All of this time I have not touched my phone and only minimally touched my purse. On returning home, I laid my phone on my floor and opened my purse. Three guesses on my next action. Yes sir, I lysol-ed my phone and my purse. Then and only then, did I check my messages.

I am still recovering from this incident.



Item two: How I know I have made it in this world.

My roommate had a dream about my blog. My blog has made it to the realm of the subconcious.

And on that note, that's all I've got to say. Sweet dreams?