Friends, we gather today on Psuedo-Rivendell to mourn. Not for Heath Ledger, not for Britney Spears, not even for the cake that I couldn't have. No, dear ones, we mourn my lost opinion of myself. Today, your Queen's gravity and sacred honor has received several blows. It all began in the Pit of Despair, which masquerades as my Finance Class. Ladies and gentlemen, to say that I'm clever in the financial realm would be to say that the sky is purple, namely, a big fat lie. Anyway, we had to endure a quiz on Tuesday. I studied long and hard, quizzed myself, and felt somewhat prepared. Imagine my dismay, friends, when I saw a not-so-nice grade today that I don't wish to write down for all prosperity. It surpassed no-so-niceness; it bombed. I was actually rather proud of myself. I was holding my head up, trying to be a big girl and take the grade like the strong woman I pride myself on being, when my professor walked over and looked at me sympathetically. That did it. The flood-gates opened, and I embarassed myself by starting to cry and couldn't stop. He was so kind, promising me that by the end of the class I would be getting A's and saying that he would help me. It was very sweet, and I managed to sob out the fact that I wasn't used to feeling stupid. Snobbish, perhaps, but the truth. He grinned and said that I was smarter than a lot of the kids in there, and even though he assumed I was in the Honors Program for something other than my mathematical skills, he was pretty sure I could get this. Isn't he a sweetheart? So I dusted myself out, got home, and tried to move on with my life and acting like the fact that I'm single yet again on Valentine's Day didn't matter. Which it really doesn't, it's just mildly annoying. Tangent! Anyway, I drove back to school tonight to my night class, Creative Writing. Right up my alley, right? Ha! With every word my professor says, I feel like I lack the Genius and Depth of Feeling necessary to be a good writer. It's maddening. Still, I shall persevere, simply because I like writing so much. It's a release. In any case, now that I've written this all down I feel enormously better and realize that I was acting rather melodramatically. So, dear citizens, instead of mourning the loss of my pride, why don't we have a party? Popcorn, anyone, while I put in The Emperor's New Groove?
7 years ago
