As I went to adjust the spiral-bound notebook in my lap, the couch creaked quietly beneath me. Instantly, the entire upper portion of my torso was facing the back of the couch, twisting violently in an effort to see in every direction at once. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I returned my body to a more natural lounging position, but this movement prompted another groan from the couch and a repeat performance of my contortionist act. Moments later, the faucet in the kitchen around the corner let loose a water droplet whose splash caused the hairs on my head to join the rest of my body on full alert. Another droplet fell. And another. Each one caused my heart to race and my life to shorten.

Ladies and gentlemen, I write this to you from the community lounge of my dorm floor. It is nearly 5am, and I would very much like to be in bed right now. I wouldn't even mind blogging at the moment if I could do so on my computer instead of by means of pen and paper. (Only because I have yet to own equipment which allows me to remotely publish blog entries from my spiral-bound notebook to the lovely land of the internet. In other words, I don't want to type this up later.)

However, I am no longer welcome in my room, the one with my comfortable bed and my beloved computer. My very rude roommate startled me from my rousing game of Spider Solitaire, posed for some pictures, and then demanded that I leave.

His name is Herpes, and he is just as unwanted as the disease. (He is, however, much harder to catch.)

He announced his presence by stomping through some plastic Wal*mart bags that I had left on my spare bed. He then defiled my Christmas lights, scuttled up the wall, and fell atop another pile of Wal*mart bags. He declared a hostile takeover of my room, my belongings, and my nerves before disappearing entirely.

And this, this is the reason I am hurriedly jotting down my horrible story in a used notebook at 5am. Even if Herpes claims my life before this story is published, I will have a rough draft laying by my side when I die so that my friends and family may know the truth of what happened the night the eleroach* returned.

*Eleroach - a mutant crossbreed of an elephant and a cockroach, often found in warm climates and girls' rooms.

For future reference, putting yogurt in one's sink to clear a clog will eventually work... but it is totally not worth the mess. Or the smell. Good heavens, the smell. My stomach is still churning at the thought of it.

Next time, I'll just call the campus maintenance crew and get over the fact that some guy will have to traipse through my dirty laundry to get to the sink, that same lovely sink that's conveniently located in my dorm room instead of in the bathroom.

I wish there was a way to acknowledge a dying cell phone battery so that it would shut up and stop beeping incessantly. Motorola phones have that particularly annoying beep that doesn't seem to care what your volume setting is and will declare to anyone within a five-mile radius that "THIS MORON DIDN'T CHARGE HER PHONE LAST NIGHT!! HAR HAR!"

I just want to press a button that will reassure my panicky phone that I heard it whining the first five hundred times. Yeah, I might forget five minutes later and find myself with a dead phone on my hands, but I'm willing to deal with those consequences in a civilized manner if only the unholy beeping from bloody hell would stop!! Until I find a way to program that feature into my phone, however, I get to sit here and yell in a very uncivilized manner because I am too damn lazy to go find my phone at 7:30am to plug it in.