lions and vomit and crows, oh my

Earlier today I was walking from my survey of music literature class to the office building of my faculty advisor when I realized that I was the only student in that part of campus. But I was not alone. I was surrounded by figures shrouded in black from head to toe. It was the closest I’ve ever come to running into the mafia. It wasn’t the Italian mafia, Chinese, Swedish, or 3-6. It was a large group of crows—what has been eerily labeled a “murder.” All black, hateful stares, forced nonchalant demeanors, sharp memories, and when you get a group of them together you’re going to have a murder… mafia.

I’ve also heard that a group of lions is called a pride. When I hear “the pride of lions” I think that the lions must especially pleased with themselves for some reason. Or maybe one of the cubs is displaying great potential in training for the hunt, so she is regarded as “the pride of the lions.” If lion parents had bumpers, her parents would have “Proud parent of a gifted prowler” or something to the effect.

The only thing I really pride myself in is a personal record—a PR for you sports-minded people out there. I have not vomited since the Ravens won the Superbowl. That was, what, 2001? Nerves spit-ups, sure. Acid reflux, a little. But not a full blown PLUGHHHH. I bring this up whenever a friend mentions a bad case of food poisoning or the upward stomach flu. “My dad is the same way.” Just so they know.

Yesterday night a delegation of guys from the floor above mine came down with their toothbrushes and toothpaste and headed to our bathroom. Someone had begun vomiting in one room and tried to make it to the bathroom, leaving a trail that Hansel and Gretel would have been proud of. Campus security came rushing in with a medical bag. I guess it was a slow night for campus security.

I woke up in the middle of last night, or I thought I did. I could have been sleeping. But I remember being awoken by a smell, the likes of which I had never encountered. It was wretched and thick and two inches from my nose. I looked around, saw nothing, looked beneath me, saw my roommate sleeping peacefully, looked above me, nothing was sopping through the ceiling. There was no source. All I could do was bury my nose in my pillow and try to fall back asleep, which I did.

I asked around today and found that no one else experienced that same smell, which makes me think it was all a pointless dream.

Life is full of mystery.

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