A Villain's Soliloquy
Warnings: (1) I think I'm about to have my period (never a good time for me or anyone within my reach). (2) It's cold again. It's supposed to be fall, but here I am, shivering in my apartment, turning "white" (my boss finally admitted admiringly, after much choked laughter and glances in the direction of my face, scaring the hell out of me, making me wonder if I'd perhaps developed some sort of facial skin affliction during the hour-long train ride to work) from extreme lack of sunlight, and being forced to witness people putting up Christmas decorations (argh) in shop windows and along the walkways to quaint little Italian restaurants that I have to walk past every day. (3) I've spent far too long--including the entire precious weekend--on a very big, ugly project of endless installments that just won't quit. (4) I was craving chocolate and was mixing up my usual batch of two cookies, but right as I was about to add the cocoa near the end, I decided I wanted oatmeal instead, so I shook in some oats, thinking cocoa and oats could be interchangeable when in fact they are not, and my cookies came out mealy and disgusting but I ate them anyway, and the disgust and irritability that I felt afterward is still lingering. (5) Just as I was biting into the first mealy cookie, I got a call from my boss because it seems I did "more than necessary" on the first installment of the aforementioned big, ugly project, so now I have to go over to the office tomorrow for a chat with the one lady there whose Japanese for some reason I cannot understand one word of, but that fact won't matter because I already know how the chat's going to go. It will be like: "You did a great job. But you did more than you have to (i.e., we are paying you pennies and wish to continue doing so, so please don't do extra work or too good a job, because otherwise, we might have to pay you, like, one penny more)."
Okay, let's break away from the over-burgeoning numbered list, shall we? But carrying on with point number (5), do you KNOW what that kind of talk feels like? Here I am, limited qualifications, barely able to take pride in what I do, yet trying to do the best job I can, and then I'm told not to BOTHER. It's like telling an architect: "Just give me something with four sides and a top." Or a cook: "As long as nobody chokes or dies. Don't worry about that 'tasting good' stuff."
And just maybe I'm feeling extra sensitive because--back to the numbered list for a second:(6) I recently received an email from a good friend, telling me, "Guess what? I got into med school!"
I'm so thrilled for her, I want to keep telling her so. And yet there's another part of me that is feeling horribly self-centered and miserable and angry at myself--though, surprisingly, not jealous (I did think I would be). Still, it's wrong. Here I should be nothing but happy for her. Instead, I'm feeling sorry for myself. Terrible, I know. It's just, there's suddenly all these doubts about what happened all those years ago when I finally gave up on my stupidly complex plans for after I became doctor, since it was apparent I was incapable of accomplishing the critical becoming-a-doctor part. Did I really try hard enough in college? Did I do everything I possibly could? Even though I laughingly agreed with my husband recently that I would have made a scary, incompetent doctor, it is still the most important thing in my life that I've ever had to give up. And it still drives me crazy if I *really* think about it--which I don't ordinarily allow myself to do. It's something best tucked in the back of my mind. Except thinking about my friend going to med school, dissecting cadavers, graduating eventually to become useful, helpful, valuable... it just makes my life seem so petty in comparison. So I mope. And use the approach of my period and a series of silly incidents as excuses to be mopeful[insert trademark symbol here].
And now I feel a little better and I shall return my stupid dream to the far reaches of my little mind--whose limited size means, unfortunately, that I can't send it that far away, but I shall pretend that it is far and that I can't see that little corner of it sticking out, waving for my attention... Now I'm just babbling foolishly, when what I really need to be doing is getting back to that big, ugly project, with which I shall try not to try too hard.