June 10, 2003 - 8:48 a.m.
I slowly work the tiny end of the safety pin under my skin.. to the root of some invisible problem� to a source of something far deeper than� an ingrown hair? Maybe this is a fledgling experiment into new methods of developing thick skin�. I damage so easily. Tonight it is the offhand comments of a drunken regular at work, which have succeeded in undermining my confidence in my grasp of the English language, of all things. His condescending play by play correction of each and every point in our conversation.. with the slurred question.. so you�re an English major� punctuated by a raised eyebrow and stubbly chin tracing small circles around some invisible quarter. Fuck, right now I just wish I�d had the nerve to say� so, are we having a conversation or are you marking me? He wanted to buy me a beer and know about my personal life and then correct me and contradict me�even and ESPECIALLy if I agreed with him. Fuck fuck fuck� get tougher you stupid girl. Why do things like this get to me? Then I start to think about that light hearted email I sent to my prof� and begin second guessing whether he too is going to read it and think� yeah right, you loser, you want to be somebody? And cackle sadistically as he strokes his greyhound. I just melt away into a puddle of awe thinking about how much I wish to one day be so well spoken. I�m suffering separation anxiety stemming from the unfortunate end of weekly mental stimulus in ENG 273. But in spite of all my hope and optimism, this BOB at the bar, totally blindsided me. I was tired and my feet killed from my new work shoes�
It makes me want to cry, even if I don�t understand why. He even had the nerve to question me about this so called inspiring prof of mine and write his name down to ask his ex-prof father if he�s heard of him, thus, somehow confirming or negating my estimation of his brilliance. It bothers me to be undermined by someone who, theoretically I feel compelled, willingly or not, to have some respect for. I guess it takes it down a notch if they�ve been drinking since your 5 o�clock shift started, are balding, bitter and lonely (maybe it�s a cheap shot to take hits at male pattern balding, and maybe it�s even cheaper to hold a captive audience with someone who relies on you for their livelihood and intends on entering the industry you seem to have made a name for yourself in and therefore can�t call you a fuckface to your fuckface). Fucker. K, maybe I can sleep now. I even called my mom to ask, mom� am I smart? My pretty girl fell asleep trying to convince me of this� and that in any event, this guy�s opinion should be totally irrelevant to me. I think that maybe, just maybe I feel slightly better. Good night.
