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6. Tranquility is My Middle Name

I haven't gone to class in a week. I'm probably going to fail the semester, but nobody cares. The greatest thing about college is that nobody cares if you show up or not. The choice is ultimately up to you. I exercised that right all week. All of my professors were informed about my roommate being murdered, so I'm guessing they'd be okay with my absence and let me make up some work.

I know that I should've been grieving, but I wasn't doing that at all. In fact, I wasn't mourning the loss of Cheryl at all. Instead, I had solidified a sort of routine in which I followed to the second.

I'd wake up around 9 o'clock only to get buzzed out of my brain with a line of cocaine. That'd keep me wired past breakfast to about 10:30. Around 11, I'd go to the showers when no one was around and smoke a bowl to relax. The steam and pot smoke usually went away fairly quickly because of the fantastic ventilation. Through noon I was more baked than a potato. I'd maybe nap or watch some sci-fi movie until dinner time. I'd go off campus and smoke a joint or two before my dinner so I could munch out a little while listening to some music. As the night time approached, I'd eat an edible and put on another movie or TV show. I usually would fall asleep around midnight, but the nine hours gave me plenty of beauty rest. The two days out of the week I'd reserve to straight tripping. I took a tab then enjoyed the ride from 11 am till 11 pm. I mostly kept to myself at those times and rarely went out in public because my pupils would be the size of dimes. I also ate some sweaty sock tasting shroom which gave me a more natural high and experience than just a crazed daze.

Little to say the week has been a blast of neurotransmitters.

It was so easy to slip through the cracks of reality into some new realm that can give one the feeling of a safety blanket. I felt safe wrapped up in my blankets high on some hybrid or sativa. The losing of ones self to the euphoria of recreationally illegal substances gave a numbing sensation to my emotions. I no longer needed to instruct my emotions. The drugs do it for me.

I've mostly been watching The Twilight Zone or some other paranormal films of superstitions and the unexplainable. That type of stuff had always interested me because my dad got me into it. He gave me a book on ghosts when I was 6 and there after, we would watch those paranormal shows like Ghost Adventures. I don't know when my relationship with the unknown became an obsession where I left my father behind, but it happened before I left for high school.

I guess, I've always been that freak who believed that aliens were the cause for human existence and such or belief in big foot and other monster. I just like to keep an open mind.

The drugs heightened my sensations to these unexplainable phenomena. Everything felt more realistic then it should be. I got spooked more often and was more interested in silly things like crop circles and that sort of thing.

It was so easy to believe and search for the most mystical conclusion instead of the most logical one. I should've been studying mathematics and principles of economics, but I was looking at analyzing photos of big foot trying to debunk them and find inconsistencies or watching The Thing and Poltergeist.

The screen of my laptop kept my door room illuminated. Ever since Cheryl's death, the school allowed me to keep the room without a roommate. I'm fairly sure that not even a transfer student would want to bunk with me just because the rumors. The other day when Suzanne caught me in the hallway after I showered and smoked. She interrogated me. Apparently, I was a death omen after both Cheryl, Rodney, and other kids in my classes had been sliced and diced to death.

The police as well as Reggie and Ryan had stopped by a few times, but I've been rather incoherent with a short fuse. On Reginald's third visit in the span of two days, I practically banned him from my dorm room because I threatened him with a matchbook and even tossed one of my good sticks of deodorant at him. Every time he'd come around, I'd neglect to answer the door or pretend I was asleep if I had accidentally left the door unlocked. Sure, I wasn't cooperating with law enforcement, but I had a golden excuse: My roommate just died and I needed space to relish in the tragedy.