pure FORESHADOWING (nifra_idril) wrote,

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cabbages and kings

The problem is that I can't seem to make myself believe that it's very important for me to do my work. I pretty much stare at the silly little things I have to do, and blink, and think, "Well, huh. I guess I could write a paper, but on the otherthand, I could do lots of other, more fun things, too." This is problematic in the extreme.

I have five days left in the semester including today. Generally you would all have been treated to at least one all nighter by now. Such a thing has not occurred. I am freakishly on top of my work, but in a very laid back way.

Long time readers of this journal may know by now that I am not really on speaking terms with laid back. I mean, I've seen laid back around. I dig it and all. It's just not me.

Me is the crazy eyes and the redbull. Me is the days spent pacing and reading because I can't sit still. I worry that I may be coming down with something, that's how calm I am. I'm like a placid cat in the sunshine when it comes to my work.

It's all very distressing. So I shall tell you a story about my morning, LJ, in the hopes that you will find it as amusing as I do.

It is a tale of sorrow and Starbucks, and awkward teacher interactions outside of school, and naturally, slapstick comedy. Plus, gingerbread lattes.

Once upon a time -- last Friday morning, early, as it was still snowing -- I walked to the closest Starbucks and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, cried into my gingerbread latte. The baristas were all very concerned, whispering to each other that they thought one of them should come talk to me and see if I was all right. I slipped out the back and walked home, clutching my salty coffee.

I haven't been back there since that day, until this morning. Embarrasment over public displays of emotion can only take me so far -- a girl needs her caffeine, you know? This morning I woke up ridiculously early, bright eyed and bushy tailed. I stalked into my kitchen to find that all caffeinated beverages were gone, and so I said to myself, "Self, you need some gingerbread latte, STAT."

So off I went to my Starbucks. Lo and behold, there was the same group of baristas. I walk in, and I hear one of them say in a loud whisper, "It's the crying girl! Is she okay? Do you think someone died?"

Hearing this, I try my best to look as little like somebody who could be described as 'the crying girl'. This involves some manic grinning on my part, right into the pastry case. One of the baristas then whispers something like, "Dude, she's baring her teeth! I think she's going to lose it!"

I pull my scarf up closer toward my face, and grin even more manically at the pastries which wink their frosted eyes at me beneath the flourescent lights. When I reach the counter, the woman helping me looks very very frightened. I keep my determined grin on my face, and order the usual. She watches me carefully while making it, and kind of flinches when I hold the money out to pay for it, as though my clear case of insanity were communicable.

As I take the drink, our fingertips brush, and she jumps back, blurting out, "Have a nice day thank you for choosing Starbucks I hope your life gets better!" as though it were all one word.

Her jump back startles me enough that I jump back -- into one of my professors. Who I manage to knock down and spill latte on. This embarrases me so much that I nearly drop what's left of my drink onto her while trying to help her off the floor, and inappropriately dusting off her scarf in a way that could have been mistaken for copping a feel which I totally wasn't doing! It was just nervousness!

I then start to apologize for the almost feel-copping thing. I babble in sentences like the following: "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate, the knocking down and then the -- but I didn't mean to knock you down! I wanted to help you up, not that you were down, and --"

She waves it all away with a pained smile on her face, telling me it's fine, a mistake anyone could have made, and the baristas are clustered around the cash register watching us with their beady, suspicioius eyes. The girl who took my money has a hand hovering beneath the counter top, and I legitimately think she was two seconds away from hitting the panic button.

"Anyway, I'll just be -- going," I say finally, and the prof smiles pleasantly, waves me off. The baristas watch in terror, and I give them another determined, demented grin, thinking "THEY MUST KNOW I AM NOT CRAZY" but really, the rictus of embarrasment on my face that I was trying to pass off as jovial good will probably did nothing to help. And as I walk out the door, I hear one of them say to the other, "Dude, that chick is the craziest person who comes in here," and THEN I hear my professor tell them, "No, no, she's just high strung."

*covers face with hands*
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