I happened to see TVg on the bus the other day while riding back to my vehicle from campus. Despite being a bit put-off by her suddenly not returning my calls, I figured it would be impolite to at least not say hi. What the hey, we might even end up having a conversation and I can get some clue as to where I might have stepped wrong with her. We ended up passing near each other after disembarking from the bus. I smiled, nodded in greeting, and said “Hey, TVg.” She stared straight ahead and continued walking and talking with her friend. Her friend never turned to see who was saying hi to TVg either. The entire situation was surreal. I’ve never been so intentionally and obviously ignored.
I wonder what, exactly, she feels I’ve done to wrong her. I admit, I found it a bit immature that the last two times I called; she would take the call, beg off saying she would call back, and not call. This, however… Infantile. Sweetheart, we’re both adults. No need to play little kid’s games.
Maybe next she’ll be waiting outside one of my classes to pelt me with rocks. Clinically insane, I tell ya. Why can’t I meet any normal women?
My ConversationalFrenchTeacher stopped me in the hall on my way into class yesterday.
“greyshade. There is something I want to talk with you about,” said she.
“Merde! Qu’est-ce que j’ai fait maintenant?” I responded with a grin.
“It’s not something I want to talk about around other people,” she practically whispered while glancing around nervously.
“I can come to your office after class if you like,” I suggested. My mind was racing. Is this about me skipping class Monday? I think that was only my second skip. What the hell is this about?
“Yes, that would be fine. Would you mind waiting until I talk with WTFg? “ she asked while crossing the hall to our classroom. “I need to speak with her, too.”
WTFg has another class just before our conversational class in the same room. If she isn’t already in the room when I get there, she won’t be there. She wasn’t there. “Looks like WTFg won’t be joining us today,” I observe.
“That’s what I needed to talk with her about. She’s been missing a lot of classes,” CFT muttered with a sigh.
Class started shortly thereafter, and I pretty much forgot about it. I did, however, get scolded and told that ‘your conversational class is not the place to try picking up sugar-mommas’. Feh. Anyplace is a good place to try to get a suger-momma. After class I took a desk in the front of the room and waited for the other students to finish gathering their personal effects and shuffle out. CFT took a desk next to me after everyone had left.
She had an air of gravity about her that one usually assumes when speaking about fatal diseases. “There is a french grad student here, one of the student-teachers, who likes you.”
“What!?” I exclaim. Let’s say that I was a bit incredulous.
“I can’t tell you who,” she said, eyeing the door. “But she met you at 307 and really likes you. I can’t tell you any more. I’m not even supposed to know, and I’m not even sure if you are interested.” That said, she stood and left.
Met me at 307. That’s rich. I can’t count the people I’ve met at 307. Tell me someone likes me and don’t tell me who it is. Are you going to start passing anonymous notes for her next? To top it off, I saw TVg waiting at the bus stop to get to the parking lot. I smiled at her. She turned the other way. I chuckled. I wanted to burst into maniacal laughter. I feel like I’m in grade school again. Infreakingsane. All of them.
At least TVg didn’t pelt me with rocks.
I was chatting on the phone yesterday night with DoesntDateMe. We spoke for between forty minutes and an hour. I was outside my office building so I could have a smoke or two. The light above me would shut off and flicker back on at irregular intervals. I had not slept much that day, and had yet to have my coffee. My mental processing capabilitys were not optimal. When I finished my conversation with her, I do a quick check of my phone to assess how much charge I had remaining for the next day on campus. Midnight already. Time to kick off those general ledger jobs.
Hmmn… What is that stuff on my phone?
The light above me flickers to life.
Blood?!?! The majority of my phone is covered in blood, as well as a fair portion of my hand. Jimminy fucksticks! My celly phone is suffering from demonic possession and is oozing forth blood as it prepares to consume my soul in some unholy ritual!
Rational, greyshade. There has to be a rational explanation for why you’re holding a blood-drenched phone. My sleep-deprived mind churns to life and begins sorting through possible scenarios. I feel a tickle on my ear. I need to get my hair trimmed, I think as I absently brush it away from my ear. My finger comes away with fresh blood.
Apparently I nicked my ear with the edge of a fingernail I had chipped earlier that day but had not yet tended to. That annoying tickle I had been bothered by for most of my phone conversation was apparently not a stray lock of hair, but my life’s blood slowly escaping my body.
At least I got to tell DDM that she talked so much that my ear started bleeding.
That’s all I got for now. Cut. Paste. Post.
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