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It finally happened. After 2.5 years of successfully avoiding this situation, I have done it. I cried in front of a professor.

I am terrified of male professors. That sounds weird, but for some reason I whither internally at the prospect of addressing them. Because of this fact, a few pretentious, pushy, snarky professors have made me cry in the last two years. Usually, however, I make it to the bathroom first. What did this professor do to make it happen in person? He was nice. What an asshole.

“Here let me help you with that.” “Fuck you. I will reward your kindness with tears and the most amount of awkward possible.”

You see I’m sensitive, and overly analytical, and self-critical. In my need to be not stupid I either 1) don’t try at all to have an excuse for why I failed, or 2) try so hard that the entirety of my self-worth depends upon succeeding. Also, I’m a masochist. Every semester I force myself to take these goddamned courses that require public performances that are the stuff of nightmares, all in the name of learning something. What the fuck is that?!

Well, so today I thought this one time I’d ask a question in person after class instead of by email because this guy is so nice (and also hot) so I figured it wouldn’t be scary. All I wanted to say was something like, “Do you have any advice or techniques on how I can curb my anxiety so I can perform as well as I do when I practice at home?” What came out was,

“I’m having a lot of anxiety.” *watery eyes*

And then he was all, “It’s okay. Let’s talk about this.”

And I went all, “I want to get better at this.” *lip quiver*

And he replied, “This is good. I’m glad you came to me with this. We can work on it together.”


I want to be this:

Bad ass, strong-willed, raider of tombs. Except for law. Trade the guns for weapons of justice. Whitshhhh. (That’s the sound of whips . . . OF JUSTICE).

But the reality is this: