aintbroke | (no subject)

For this story, you will need a few key facts.

My room mate is a small person. I think she's pushing five foot, but she is certainly not, you know, five two.

She has the mad collection of MP3s. Seriously. Last count it was something like forty five hundred. We always leave them running. I don't know what our room would be like without music, because, frankly, I've never experienced it.

She is big on naps. (We both are really. Our dorm room is like nap central on this campus.)

She is also a sufferer of migraines, which means, from time to time she has a great and vampire-like hatred of light. Because of this, she is perfectly comfortable sleeping with her head under her layers of blankets.

So there have been times, when I come home from the salt mines (read: class) (I do not understand this unhealthy fixation on salt,HOLAY CARP.), and sit down to my normal websurfing, or pull out my homework, or something, and a hour or two will go by before I realize that my room mate has cleverly disguised herself as a badly made bed.

That happens way more often than you would think, but as I'm a fairly quiet person (under cover of the punky-emoy-random music that is always going) and I spend about three hours a week total in my room, it doesn't seem to matter too much.

But today, her phone rang. My room mate and her cell phone are quite literaly, attached at the hip. If she leaves the room to go down the hall for twelve seconds (clearly with in earshot of her phone) she will take her phone with her. But it rang just now, and (after cautiously poking her bed) I have deduced that she is not here.

It's really silly of me to want the Twilight Zone music to start playing, but I feel cheated.