When Hell Freezes Over

I am a little bit broken hearted right now.

I was so looking forward to this day. This morning, to be specific. Nothing else I have going on today is worth looking forward to--just homework. I had really high hopes for one of my appointments this morning because I am really interested in getting to know this man. I've been just dying for a chance to speak with him, get to know him, and be able to be his friend. He came in yesterday to make an appointment, and I didn't fawn over him and beg him to sign up for a time with me, but he did anyway.

I mean, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to throw myself at this man because I am enamored by him. I want him to take an interest in me and see if anything can happen.

Anyway, I told myself I wouldn't be some airheaded bimbo who tells him what he wants to hear. "You're going to be yourself," I promised. "If you woo him, it will be by the prowess of your editing skills and undeniable attractiveness of you."

He slept while I read some of his paper and I didn't watch him. I just did my editing, figuring out ways to make his argument stronger and gave him the same criteria I use for every other paper I read. He looked at the marks on his paper and said, "damn!"

I felt pleased to have taken him by surprise. I don't care if it was a positive or negative exclamation--it was an exclamation.

I reviewed my notes with him and he disagreed with some, and we had a little power struggle. "It's Turbanian, not MLA" he told me.

Yeah, I know. I know Turbanian. This is not it. I didn't say that, but I let it go. He has my notes and will find out soon enough that I was right. And, if I'm not, that's fine. I don't care.

But he left with my comments and my ink and I had to read another paper with a horrible prompt. I wanted him to stay and tell him I would read his paper during chapel--anything to make him know that I am competent of so much more than he had on his paper. He was five minutes late and I talked with him a bit before I read the measly four and a half pages I managed.

Should I have done something different? Instead of editing for his respect, should I have edited with his ego in mind? Hell no. I'm not ashamed of the work I did or the remarks I gave him. I'm ashamed that I didn't do enough and that he is going to get to spend time with another employee here. One I don't particularly like because she reminds me of people I went to high school with. That girl, the one I used to be, is who will get to spend time with the man I want in my future, to some degree.

To top it all off, I couldn't even find my fucking mascara.