When I first moved into residence I brought with me a little green goo-lamp. Nothing special; just an hourglass type encasement that held a green gooey substance (no, it wasn't snot you silly people) which would ooze through a hole in the centre every time you flipped it over. I think it would last for about ten minutes before settling at the bottom.

I never thought it was anything to go crazy about. Apparently I was wrong. By the time classes started, news of the goo-lamp in my room had reached the far reaches of the North Side of residence. People I barely knew would knock on my door and sheepishly ask if they could sit and stare at the goo for a few minutes. And I let them. I loved the expressions on their faces as they watched it ooze into shapes and patterns before their eyes. I loved the different ways they would shake it, trying desperately to spell their names or create a great green gooey tidal wave. Someone even perfected a method of lying on her back and pretending the goo was falling onto her face as they held it up to the light. Well, ok, that was me. My roommate thought I was a big silly.

It was like fire. Something to stare into while you forget about your surroundings. Something to lose yourself in. I think that's why it cast such a spell on people.

Unfortunately, last night I mourned the passing of the goo. I was sitting on my bed flipping the hard plastic case aimlessly, chatting about pumpkins and how my roommate had an unhealthy attraction to orange things in the fall, and it fell from my hands. No big deal, it was plastic. But as I picked it up, the top part came unstuck and a cascade of sticky goo poured out onto my hands. My arms flailed wildly. Goo flew through the air. My roommate screamed (she had a theory that the goo was actually a corrosive biological weapon created by the French government) until she noticed that I was in no pain. We ran to the bathroom and tried desperately to wash the goo from our hands, but to no avail. Our door handle is still sticky, as well as the underside of my left arm.

I almost cried. When word spread the mourners filtered downstairs to our room and gave us gentle hugs. Words like "I heard. I'm sorry." passed, and nothing more. So I let go of the sacred goo (it had been purchased in France and therefore buying another like it was out of the question). I guess when you're not allowed to have pets you create substitutes. Maybe I'll get more work done now.