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Disgust?
Terror. Disgust… Maybe just a little bit of arousal. I don’t really know. It’s kind of a toss up when you wake up covered in blood.
Okay, let’s backtrack a little.
I lost faith in the universe in sixth grade. It was finally the night of the long-awaited talent show. My dancing rat was dressed in a jacket, a tie and glasses, which made him look like a marvellous, rodent-like person. Quite a classy fellow. Did the crowd enjoy his routine? Did the staff members marvel at the unimaginable skill it took for me, a mere 11 year-old, to train a goddamn rat in stolen moments throughout our school camp?
No.
Scream loudly, my peers did. Hit my poor little guy with a broom, the staff did. Scared the holy CHEESE out of poor Bartholemew, the universe did.
My little star died from shock during the hubbub, as did my faith in the universe.
This loss of faith was further cemented after the follow-up session with the psychiatrist. ‘Egomaniacal’ was a word tossed around when adults thought I wasn’t listening. I forget exactly who, and in what order of conversation, but I heard it enough to wear it as a badge of honour. I think, as far as words go, it’s quite a fun one to say. Multiple syllables synchronous with differing mouth movements. Quite a pretty word, really. One that could be placed on a pedestal or prayed to. Unfortunately, anyone I shared this observation with disagreed, and then...
Okay, let’s backtrack a little.
I lost faith in the universe in sixth grade. It was finally the night of the long-awaited talent show. My dancing rat was dressed in a jacket, a tie and glasses, which made him look like a marvellous, rodent-like person. Quite a classy fellow. Did the crowd enjoy his routine? Did the staff members marvel at the unimaginable skill it took for me, a mere 11 year-old, to train a goddamn rat in stolen moments throughout our school camp?
No.
Scream loudly, my peers did. Hit my poor little guy with a broom, the staff did. Scared the holy CHEESE out of poor Bartholemew, the universe did.
My little star died from shock during the hubbub, as did my faith in the universe.
This loss of faith was further cemented after the follow-up session with the psychiatrist. ‘Egomaniacal’ was a word tossed around when adults thought I wasn’t listening. I forget exactly who, and in what order of conversation, but I heard it enough to wear it as a badge of honour. I think, as far as words go, it’s quite a fun one to say. Multiple syllables synchronous with differing mouth movements. Quite a pretty word, really. One that could be placed on a pedestal or prayed to. Unfortunately, anyone I shared this observation with disagreed, and then...
