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Apr. 4th, 2009 11:58 amLast night for the first time in a long time, I dreamed of HCC. I wandered through familiar spaces, my steps unmeasured and sure. I smelt familiar spells, found myself feeling a part of whole, feeling wanted, respected, adored. I followed the hallways with no sense of fear, or regret or concern. It was just me and the way the light would warm the hallway heading down to G building, making the concrete have a warmness that didn't feel at all artificial. The smile is as soft as that light, all knowing and absurdity; there is no doubt at HCC for me. I know that if I keep walking, I find G-building just as it was, and I will find everyone whom I need there. I stand before the double doors dotted with pink paper, and even the color selection makes me happy; it is just another piece of HCC fluttering in the wind happy to see me.
And then I wake up here at Moho. I actually quite like my room at Moho, as messy and loud as it can be. I'm half-asleep, my eyes are barely open against the influx of light as I wander down the hallway to the bathroom. My steps are concise and counted. 14 steps into the bathroom stall. I cannot see anything, the light is too bright and my glasses are offering vision to the top of my Wilson. All of a sudden there is a voice, loud and angry around me. “I'm cleaning the bathroom! What are you blind?!” I stop, stunned. My chest tightens, and I can feel my heart falling into my stomach before it is thrust upwards by frantic pushing. Despite all the not-joking-enough comments I make about my blindness, I am almost always surprised when someone else I don't know remarks upon it.
I was embarrassed and upset by her careless comment. I didn't say anything, which is highly unusual for me; everyone who knows me knows why. Instead I blindly groped my way towards the other bathroom. The steps from my room to that bathroom have never been counted, and it was terrifying to me. I do not wanna live with this sort of emotion anymore, I do not want to have to count on how my fingers touch the wall, and the sensation of vague shapes within my vision. I do not want to almost knock over trashcans everywhere. I just want to go back to that time when everything didn't feel that hard and everything wasn't like a slice at me.
And then I wake up here at Moho. I actually quite like my room at Moho, as messy and loud as it can be. I'm half-asleep, my eyes are barely open against the influx of light as I wander down the hallway to the bathroom. My steps are concise and counted. 14 steps into the bathroom stall. I cannot see anything, the light is too bright and my glasses are offering vision to the top of my Wilson. All of a sudden there is a voice, loud and angry around me. “I'm cleaning the bathroom! What are you blind?!” I stop, stunned. My chest tightens, and I can feel my heart falling into my stomach before it is thrust upwards by frantic pushing. Despite all the not-joking-enough comments I make about my blindness, I am almost always surprised when someone else I don't know remarks upon it.
I was embarrassed and upset by her careless comment. I didn't say anything, which is highly unusual for me; everyone who knows me knows why. Instead I blindly groped my way towards the other bathroom. The steps from my room to that bathroom have never been counted, and it was terrifying to me. I do not wanna live with this sort of emotion anymore, I do not want to have to count on how my fingers touch the wall, and the sensation of vague shapes within my vision. I do not want to almost knock over trashcans everywhere. I just want to go back to that time when everything didn't feel that hard and everything wasn't like a slice at me.
