The Spot

Well, by now you might’ve noticed that apart from being meticulously updated (thank you, Ali), my blog is also brutally honest. This might help explain why I’m about to relate the most embarrassing thing to happen to me since grade school.
I cried. In public. Oh my dear sweet jesus on a bicycle. I cried.
This might not be so bad if, say, I got run over by a car. But I think we’ll all agree that the circumstances surrounding this cry are inexcusably embarrassing: they border on the criminal.
I cried in my professor’s office. Oh, it’s as bad as you imagine. We were discussing my first essay of the course, which got a B. Objectively, I kind of need a B+ at the least. For law school reasons. But I didn’t really want to get the mark changed. I just wanted to write better next time, maybe rewrite the paper itself.
*sigh*. Defending myself in the midst of self accusation. The point is that I teared up just as the meeting was winding down. I don’t know what happened: I feel like my tear-ducts have betrayed me. But it looked incredibly bad: my prof felt compelled to assert that he couldn’t judge my work differently from anyone else. He wasn’t going to change the mark. He thought I was committing emotional blackmail. I feel like a felon.
It's like I slept with him and he just dumped me, or some such situation. I’m so embarrassed. He’s so embarrassed. It’s so incredibly awkward. I had class with him an hour after the fact. In fact, I’m writing in class now. I can’t look him in the eyes and he won’t look me in the eyes. He thinks I’m a weak girly-girl who can ‘t take criticism. I don’t blame him.
I’m going to retreat into my apartment and avoid all human contact. From now on, all communication will be through e-mail. Who knows? Next time I could freak out and punch someone, as opposed to reach out and touch someone. A danger to society.
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