The hormonal cloud has lifted and I can feel clearly now. My anger (and frustration) is sharp; it has points.

If you need incontrovertible proof of my dipshittedness, look no further than tonight's class. What. The hell. Is wrong with me?

I feel like I've gone backwards this semester. In class I thought to myself, "I'm a hermit crab with a shell made of glass." I can't get a word in, and when I have to, it comes out all jumbled. I think straight thoughts, I copy straight thoughts, and then I open my mouth and speak curlicues. I don't deserve to be taken seriously. I feel like such a freaking idiot. Why the hell am I even here? I can't run with these wolves, not even the cubs. My opinions don't matter because they are wrong. Let's not discuss my thoughts because I only poke at thinking them. I don't dive in; I tread the shallow water. This is my fear, my overanalytical fear. Why is it I can do this here, but in class, oh no, don't call on me. I have nothing to say of any worth.

Prof.'s gotta be on to me by now. He's gotta be disappointed in me. He's gotta be leading the pack of naysayers, saying nay, what a nimrod that Comedylass is. Why would a brain like him want to waste his synapses firing on a dolt like me? I have nothing of value to give. I am nobody and I have nothing and it's never going to change and I should know better than to say never but that's how I feel tonight; like the world's most blithering idiot. Not even watching Rory and Lorelei reunite could lift my spirits.

I'm in a funk. A diseased funk. Chop me down, I'm withering away anyway. Pour me down the drain, I've gone sour. Not only have my words failed me, they've abandoned me. I tried to stick my foot in the door and got it slammed (in my face).

Gah, I'm such a drama queen. I'm getting too old for this shit.