l’esprit d’escalier

Grandpa: “Metallica? That’s one a them weirdos.”
Dodge: “Hah….”
Grandpa: “They’re up on the stage with long hair”– *guitar noises*– “You can’t tell if they’re a boy, or a man. Or a girl!”

Thank goodness Grandpa Vegas is around to lighten the mood. Because waiting makes me a little, teensy, tiny bit COMPLETELY INSANE.

The library. STILL. has not called me. Which makes me go through the conversation over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over in my head. Mentally hearing myself talk (in what I keep imagining as this annoying little-girl voice), saying all my wrong answers, lame comments, et cetera– it keeps playing on a contant loop.

And I think:

Oh my. EVERYTHING I SAID WAS STUPID.

And she wrote it all down. It’s all on permanent record. And I sound totally different on paper than I do talking. Especially when I’m uncomfortable.

I made a dumb joke, didn’t I? Oh, several. Somehow I am remembering several.

Did I not THINK before I said things???

OK, Pen. Calm down. Sheesh.

I mean, she seemed to like you.

And you said some intelligent things, too. You did a good job. Sure, you might have said a few silly things, but overall–

Oh, who am I kidding.
They hate me now.

They won’t even say no to me, they’ll just drop off the face of the earth and I will never find out. But inside I will know that it’s because I said something wrong, or seemed silly, and it was all on paper for the note-taking page to snicker at.

Sigh. (Reasons I hate writing: All the stupid things I say.
On paper.
Forever.)

Truly, this is my dilemma at the moment. Except it applies to so very many facets of my life! OK, two. Two facets. But still.

I told you I’m a little insane at the moment.

I did see Bug today, though. After her shoulder was (figurately) drenched with my (also figurative) tears, she said, “It takes a while.” And somehow that made me feel better, because now I have a sensible thing in my head.

Just now, Grandpa was sitting next to me asking about the library.
Grandpa: “So did you hear anything?”
Me: “No.”
Grandpa: “They suck. But don’t get discouraged. You just keep truckin’. You gotta be Irish, keep going, man.”
Then he went outside singing, “Bum ba dum dum dum, Baby!”

PS: Rice milk. Disgusting. *weeps for the loss of cereal*

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