Somber hangover reflections

I haven’t been in a very good mood lately.

I’m stressed by the multifarious pressures of putting together the PhD application, which is essentially designed to be a heart-attack inducing bag of stress. Futher, to have to convince all these schools and profs that you’re worth any of their attention at all can be a bit of an ego-crusher. I think the whole point of its tediousness is in weeding out people who say “what’s the point?” and throw in the towel, and believe me, I’ve been close to that point.

Futher to that, when you’re feeling stressed and low on self-esteem, any little thing can throw you off your feet. Case and point was last night, my staff xmas party.

I had worked that day, and had grappled with my usual feelings of “nobody likes me here” and “nobody appreciates the work I do here”. That happens. Nonetheless, I do enjoy the company of the people I work with, regardless of what I percieve my popularity there to be. And I was looking forward to the party too, especially the gift exchange where I envisioned a big reaction to my thick, soft, fluffy mittens that I worked so hard to have finished in time.

We do a “chinese gift exchange” at our parties, which means that when someone opens a gift, they can swap it for a previously opened gift. The year I made alligator mittens, everyone fought over them all night and my heart soared. The girl who unwrapped my mittens this year tossed them away in favor of something “better” without a second’s hesitation, and my heart sank. They wound up going to the new girl, who claims to like them a lot, but seeing them so unappreciated was unreversible.

This is the plight of the handmade gift enthusiast; the odd time someone will not appreciate the time, work and care put into your items. And fuck, does it sting.

On a lighter note, my disappointment culminated in my almost getting into a fight with some girl at the bar. Picture this; Zaphods. I’m wearing a BCBG corset-top and pencil skirt with my highest stiletto heels. I have an updo and elaborate makeup. As I walk along the bar from the dancefloor-end toward the coat-check area, I encounter some congestion of people. My travels slow down as I’m worced to walk toe-to-heel against people in front of and behind me.

All of a sudden, the girl behind me spills her drink all over me. I’m not exaggerating either. I felt it all over my chest and left arm, my top and my leather watch; I even felt it fall down my left leg and into my shoe. I raise my arms and turn to start accepting the profuse apologies I’m expecting, but I don’t get any. When I inform this broad that she has just showered me in whatever whe was drinking, she told me to “take it easy”, and my cup runneth over.

Details of the event are a bit of a blur; I vaguely recall repeating “take it easy” incredulously. What I do remember in perfect clarity was that she tried to walk away from me, toward the door and down the steps… so I helped her along. I shoved this girl down the steps from behind. I was 100% ready to fight, despite the fact that I was a) wasted, b) in high heels and c) far smaller than this girl I was fronting, even with my high heels on.

For all I know, it would have been a fight I’d have lost, but I’ll never know because the girl just disappeared. I looked for her for the rest of the night, but she was probably hiding from the drunk, crazy woman (me).

Anyway, drink-spilling girl, if you’re reading this, you need to be taught some manners. And I need to vent some aggression. So bring it!

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