your roommate’s hair appears in all your things. you don’t know where it comes from–it’s in your bed, threaded in your socks, appears in small piles in the corner of the common room. where does it all come from? how does she have that much hair on her head?
there’s guitar being played out on the quad. you’re not sure who is playing the guitar, or where the quad is, but you’re sure that it’s happening. softly, a voice sings to you: “today is gonna be the day that I’m gonna throw it back to you.”
as if out of nowhere, you have 5 papers due in the next 14 days. you’re not sure how this happened. you check the syllabi of your classes. time is slipping away from you.
it’s 2 AM and all of the washing machines are taken. where did all these clothes come from? you check the timer on the machines. each one has an infinity symbol instead of a time limit. you stand and watch someone’s sheets whirl in a kaleidoscope of color.
there’s a party at the LAX house. where is the LAX house? no one seems to know. when is the party? someone tells you it’s on a Tuesday. your college doesn’t even have a lacrosse team.
you wake in the middle of the night to the distant sound of sledgehammers. your college is constantly under construction, but no buildings are built. “pardon our appearance,” the college seems to whisper.