[this is part four of a multi-part entry. Just for information sake.]

During that term I was cast in the production as having a sub-lead. There were only two leads in that term�s production and only one of them was for a female. But, there were two parts, one male, one female, for secondary leads. I got one of those. And it was shared with someone else, so that I wouldn�t ruin the show by not being there on Friday and Saturday.

I was irritated that I didn�t get the lead, but the lead was given to a senior and she was good. Really good. She really deserved the lead. And she could be there for every performance.

At the end of that term, my room mate had gotten so bad that I was reaching boiling point. Every time she would bitch and yell at me, I would ignore her for a while and then leave the room when she started getting in my face.

Luckily, we only shared one class. I was always there early and she always showed up late. It was an 8am English Comp class. At the end of the semester, the day before the final (Thursday night for those folks playing at home) she went off on me again. But this time, I had taken it for four and a half months. I had ignored her and avoided her and escaped as often as I could. I had no money, I had gotten a �d� on my theory test. I was depressed and pissed off and feeling so completely and totally alone.

She burst into the apartment at around 2 in the morning and I was studying for the English Comp final. I hadn�t slept for the past few days. I hadn�t eaten anything more than two packages of top ramen and a single roast beef sandwhich in the previous two weeks. No lie, no exageration. I was pissed off and tired and had gone so long without food I wasn�t even hungry anymore. I looked at her as she started screaming at me. I clenched my jaw, stood up, got dressed (Yes, all female college freshmen study for their finals in t-shirts and underwear!) and left the apartment without a word. But my fists were clenched very, very, very tightly.

I spent about an hour or so walking around the building, along Broadway. I walked until I was calm enough to go back and finish studying. I returned to the apartment and as soon as I got to the livingroom (she was in the kitchen) she started bitching at me again. She told me that I wasn�t going to fix anything by running away.

She yelled and railed at me about how filthy the apartment was and I stared at her, jaw clenched tightly, fists curled so tightly my forearms were white with the strain. She continued bitching and I looked at her and in a deadly-quiet tone of voice I told her that she didn�t want to make me hit her.

She snorted at me and said something akin to, �If you do, you�d better make it good, cause when I get up you�ll regret it for the rest of your life.� I know those weren�t her exact words. I don�t remember her exact words, but that�s what her words said.

I tilted my head back a little, my chin rising just a touch and I was trembling. I walked a step toward her and she backed up a step. I don�t know if she backed up because she was scared or if she was bracing herself or what, but I think that one backed step is the only reason she didn�t get hit. I clenched my jaw tighter, moved the four steps it took to grab my English Comp book. I looked at her one more time and she glared at me. I was trembling harder. My hands, wrists and elbows hurt with the force of my clenched fists. My shoulders throbbed and I would swear my eyes were red.

She glared again and told me to hit her, to try it and that it would be the last thing I ever did. I growled. She backed up two steps and there was a brief moment of fear that flashed across her eyes. I turned my back to her and walked out of the apartment. As I did, she screamed at me, telling me to go ahead and run away again, that I was nothing but a coward. A fat coward. I slammed the door. Hard.

I walked around Capitol Hill for a while, breathing hard, enraged. Completely and totally enraged. People who were on the streets backed away from me. I stormed along Broadway from 7th down to Dick�s Drive In and back up. The entire time I was repeating, over and over, under my breath, �Please don�t let me kill her. Please God, don�t let me kill her.� Over and over again. With every step I said those phrases.

I could see, in my head, I could see myself punching her. Again and again and again. I could see it. I could feel it. I could feel my fist pounding into her face again and again and again until I couldn�t tell where her blood stopped and mine began. I could see, in my head, her face all battered and mashed and mushy. I could see her there on the floor of the kitchen, bloody, dead, no teeth, no cheeks, no eyes, no nose, just a mushy, bloody mess where her face had been.

And I kept repeating to myself that mantra. �Don�t let me kill her. Please God, don�t let me kill her.�

And at about 4 am I made my way north from 7th up toward the Catholic church and Cornish North. At about 5th street or so, I was crossing the street, enraged, completely and totally enraged. Still muttering my mantra. A car careened out of nowhere, cutting me off, so close that my open button down (over the t-shirt) touched the car. I reached out and with more force and speed than I knew I had, I smacked the car with my book.

It disappeared less than five feet down the road. I have no idea, whatsoever, if it was a real car, if it really disappeared, or if I was so fucked up in my rage that it just ceased to exist to me as soon as it had passed. I kept walking. I walked up to Cornish North, about 8 streets or so north of 7th. Right next to the Catholic Church. It was really early. And I walked around the building. I checked all the doors and they were all locked. I finally went and sat down at the back of the building, on the steps. There was a view of the water and I watched as dawn crept closer. I had stopped muttering by the time I sat. And I just waited, hugging myself, sitting in silence, still feeling so much rage inside me, but shoving it away as fast as I could.

At about 6 am the custodian came around and opened the door for me. He asked me how long I�d been there and I said that I�d been there about two hours or so. He nodded and said it was okay then, that I�d been the one. *chuckles faintly* The following term (Fall of 89) I found out that there had been reports of a possible vandalization.

Anyway, when he let me in, I just went up to the class room and sat there. I waited and calmed myself a little more. I still had my jaw clenched and I think my eyes showed absolutely nothing. I think they were completely closed off. I didn�t talk to anyone as they started coming in. I just sat there, waiting. When it was time for the class to begin I had the rage locked up again. Completely locked up. I was cool. Kind of like.... *frowns*

Kind of like the way Steven Seagal looks when he�s dealing with five attackers at once, except I wasn�t moving. He�s got that blank look, not angry, not enraged, not concentrating, but as if he were a machine. As if he were just there, going through the motions, instinctually.

Anyway, the roommate didn�t show up to class. I finished the final and left without having spoken a single word, without looking at anyone. No comments, no thoughts, no communication. A machine.

I went to my final �smile and get an A� class later that day, that afternoon. I didn�t go back to the apartment. I didn�t speak. For the final in that class, we were going to Volunteer Park for the hour and a half. I spent the entire time �running�. It was strange. I slipped into the woods and I saw myself as a tiger. Literally. I saw myself as a tiger, being hunted and I hid in the trees for a while. Then, I just started moving. I was sort of jog/loping. I moved from tree to tree. I moved up and down the hill. I skirted the area where other people were. I didn�t say a word. I wasn�t feeling anything.

Near the end of the class period, I went up to the top of a small rise, looked over the people and children there. The next thing I remember is my teacher�s face over mine. There were a few other people around but I don�t really remember who they were or if I even cared. The look on the instructor�s face was of fear and concern.

She said that I had been laying there, straight, not moving and with my eyes open for more than ten minutes. She said that she thought I was just doing some kind of experiment, but a kid had been hitting me (tapping as if curious, not actually �hit�ting me) for about five minutes and I still didn�t move and I didn�t blink. She said that she was scared that something had happened to me. She asked if I was okay.

I sat up and she cautioned me, didn�t want me getting up if I was hurt. I just stood up, shrugged and said, quietly, that I was fine. She said my eyes were dead. I blinked. She looked at me for a long time and then looked to the other students and said it was time to go back. I turned and walked back to the car. I didn�t say anything. I blinked once in a while, but not often.

I don�t remember seeing my roommate again. I don�t remember anything after going back to the car, actually. I remember being very quiet. I remember not saying much at all. I remember pretty much being gone. I don�t remember being me. I don�t know if that makes any sense. I felt like a machine.

*shrugs, exhaling slowly* I can�t keep going right now. There�s a huge black spot after that day. I don�t know if it got worse or what, but I just... *shrugs* I don�t know. I�ll continue this when I can. I�ll probably jump ahead to the next thing I remember. But for now... that�s it. Hell, it�s now 11p and I started this at about 7p.

A lot of thinking. A lot of.... lost memories. A lot of �lost�. If that makes any sense at all.

*shrugs*

Until next time.

Peace unto thy hearts.

PS I�m okay. I�ve gotten past all that shit and I�m not getting all maudlin and melancholy or anything. I�m just too tired to continue the brain dump at this time. Enough of my memory has been purged for the time being. And, Joey needs to go out.

*chuckles*

Toodles.