Every time I sit down in Music Building Room 2 (where on Monday nights Music 180 is held) I feel like the world is going to end. I don't know what it is about the room that creeps me out so much. There is a lot of noise, to be sure: a rattling double door, a roaring radiator. The sounds of Mozart Society seep in from upstairs, while Professor Levin's resonant voice booms. Papers rustle, people fidget.
And my brain vanishes. I can't feel me anymore--only this sort of hollowness, absorbency. It is as if I were not a person but a sponge for sound. And everthing suddenly seems louder--ominously loud, Judgment-Day loud, earth-tears-asunder-to-reveal-bleak-depths-of-nothingness loud. I wouldn't be surprised one day if a shadowy figure appeared to take vengeance upon us.
And then I'll snap back to reality, and it'll all be okay. I've done this three weeks in a row now, and it's quite strange. I seriously think I dissociate for a few minutes. Sketchy?
Maybe the room has a ghost. Make sure to eat garlicky food before. No wait, that's for vampires.
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