Thursday, March 29, 2007

117. Okay

Ugh, I want to kill the psychobitch. She's *at* me for not doing my share because, of course, putting my neck on the line to organize and event and contacting people and making that event happen on campus at minimum cost is not nearly as important as running around the dorms I can't get into because I don't live on campus and work three days a week to talk to kids who don't want to listen to me because I am not a particularly strong public speaker. Ask me to weedle my way out of a tricky situation on the spot, I can do it. Ask me to prepare a speech with given information, I'm a fucking dear in headlights. I trip over words, I mispronounce them, and I am too damn nice to push harder. I can sell $300 jewelry to old Russian ladies and an expensive microscope to a couple, but I can't convinvely repeat a prepared speech. Go figure? I'd like to say because it's not my material. I'd like to note that these aren't my words, and I don't do well when my equal acts like my superior and criticizes everything I say and nitpicks and acts like a total bitch. But I can't because, you know, that is shifting the blame. Obviously, it is my fault I can't convince 60 people like she did in a single hour. And, lord knows, it's my fault my friend the editor won't cover our project. I said he was my friend, we have an added in. I did not say he was my whoreslave to cater to my every whim. Yes, it is disapointing that he decided not to run the article, but don't call him my "friend" in apostrophes because you somehow doubt the closeness of our relationship. I love this kid, he is hilarious, and I am certainly closer to him than I ever will be to you. This is the kid who had to call me and inform me that one of my friends died because he was writing a story on it in the paper, and he had to ty to console me over the telephone because I didn't know. This kid is an amazing reporter, and now a brilliant editor. Don't reduce him to quote marks because things don't go your way. I believe that, in the scheme of things, everything tends to work out. And it does. Shitty things happen. That's that. This bitch has no idea what I do to survive each day. She has no idea how close I am to losing my job, losing my scholarship. And I have no idea what goes on in her life. But things are pretty good for me, and they will work out, and I will be okay. This project will be okay. But some people aren't happy with okay.

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