I am doomed, it seems, to being forgotten. Throughout these three years at college, I've oft been overlooked. And I'm not talking about the large lectures, where I'm a mute and unthinking faceless student anyway, but the smaller discussion sections...where I'm still mostly a mute and unthinking student. Okay, fine, maybe the GSI has a lot on his or her plate, has to manage roughly sixty students, and has to bother with his/her own classes, but dammit, if you're pairing everyone up and you have a roster, there is no excuse to skip over me. Plus I was sitting right next to you. It really hurts. Well, it really hurts now, given how it's been compounded with a general sense of being passed over recently. I never used to get upset over it. Sad that I don't have presence, and envious at those that do, but not hurt.
Geh, what can I say, these past few weeks have not been good to my ego...Actually I don't know whether it's these past few weeks. I'm writing this March 4th to finally pick clean the scab that formed however many weeks ago this coalesced. Reader, if you're sharp, you'd have notice that the published date is February 15th. Aha! Discrepancy, you say? This is just when I started the entry, and I feel like finishing it with that date intact.
Anyway, back to the bad week for ego.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that since her days in the dorm, Kaffy has always been the ugly one. I mean, there's only two ways dorm pairings work: both occupants are of equal attractiveness, or one is more attractive than the other. I've had the fortune of dorming with three very attractive, very sought after girls. Therefore, I must conclude I am The Ugly One in the latter group. So I make up for it in personality by being loud, lewd, and shameless. By giving painfully good massages, and being the gesticulating go-between. As I've gained seniority, I've also become an Aunt Agony and Essay Essie of sorts. But still I'm not the one they pick for teams, or the one they find intriguing. What is it that I do wrong? Am I too eager? Too transparent?
And why am I writing this anyway? Shouldn't this be accepted an acknowledged; filed away for things to reflect upon on times-I-am-inordinately-sad. Well, because there's this one thing that happened that I just can't get over. It's wedged between a wrinkle of my brain, and I keep running over it like a tongue encountering a particularly stubborn particle of gristle. Hopefully typing it down is like finally getting a chance to go to the bathroom and floss the damn thing out. It's practically putrefying in there
...I may have taken this metaphor too far.
So roundabouts whenever I started this blogpost in my head, a dormmate D was hanging out in our room, shooting for tips to impress his missus. As these things go, of course it rambles into personal territory and he begins to probe into our love lives. I've made it my goal to be open about any and every aspect of mine, to clear some of the silly social constraints imposed thataway, and to be a sort of reference for others--endowing experience without experience, as Neil Gaiman put it ("Locks," Fragile Things). It's pretty obvious D was much more interested in my rommate's history, and I consigned myself to a minute of inner emoness, before letting it go, and trying to steer D into shallower territory out of respect for roommate's privacy. I don't remember what I said that turned his attention (I'd like to think it some witty quip), but--and this has been haunting the dusty caverns of my memory--not even turning away from facing my roommate to talk to me, he waves his hand dismissively and says something along the lines of, "oh, I don't want to hear you. I already know everything about you." It's seems callous typed out like that, as if it were some deliberate gesture. Actually, it was much more conversational, off the cuff...unthinking. But that only made it sting that much more. The implication that D was blowing me off subconsciously, as if he'd already noted and categorized me to the outskirts of his attention. Despite the careless nature of the remark, after the initial sadly angry pang of being dismissed (in my own room, no less!) wore away, it was really hard not to react to it. I hid it the best I could, but some choice passive-aggressive phrases--worded neutrally, of course--peppered the rest of my side of the conversation.
So that's the story. So petty, isn't it? Augh, something about knocking memories back and forth in the skull is that they take on an exaggerated quality without the actual memory being stretched. Like angling a light to produce a longer shadow. Maybe, with this, I've pinned it down like Peter Pan's shadow, and I'll roll it up and....I wanted to say 'burn it,' but then I'm just being bitter, so I'll just feed it to the dark recesses of forgetfulness.
You know what, I'm also disappointed in myself for having lost self-control. Alas, whatever confluence of PMS, stress, and fatigue that let me express my true feelings at that moment..AUGH, I'd like to take it back, shake myself by the shoulders while yelling, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"
I consider any loss of temper as the ultimate fail, and any betrayal of inner dialogue to be weakness. I've already talked about how I hate crying in public, but by godiva I'd hate losing my temper more. I'd hate myself for being unable to bind my anger, to speak and act in any way that has not passed the TSA of my brain, and has not been pruned of What I Really Think (At Least In This Very Moment). I mean, there are times I rant and rave, but inside, I'm completely unaffected. I guess you could call it an act, but it's more accurate to say it's a diluted, sterile version. Although yes, sometimes it is an act, where I don't feel anything like the way I'm behaving. It's a strange and comfortable contradiction, to be so emotionally calm and distant to my huffy exterior. I like it. So yes, my ideal is to go through life with a perpetual poker face, and really live up to 'keeping it to myself.' I fail miserably sometimes, but I think my overall track record is pretty solid. Maybe I'll go into the why's and fudge-man,-you're-a-sad-mofo some day. Keep note, self, blog about this. I guess this blog's a bit of an anomaly to the mantra, since here I am, telling the internet What I Really Think. However, this is practically shouting into the abyss, although there is an identifiable reader. Oh well.
I started Sesqipedalia in a fit of ego to update and entertain definite readers that I knew with my oh-so-interesting-life, but it wasn't until I really began blogging for myself and forgot about them that I think I really got in the groove of things. So why upset this?
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