I've taken up a class. My Ego persuaded me to sign up for the intermediate level, because she thinks I am a Great Writer. But my Ego and I need to sit down and have us a talk, I think, because I am all aflounder. I sit quiet as a mouse in class, hoping that the others might think I'm mysterious. Or clever. They just think I haven't done the homework. I find myself too timid to form opinions until I've heard some of theirs, and then too polite to interrupt the flow of their discussion. I apologise profusely for bumping elbows and dropping pens, I dread the five minute break when my classmates talk amongst themselves. I sit and smile awkwardly through their conversations, penned in place by the uncomfortable seating arrangement.
Last week, I sought refuge in the jacks. A piss, a sense of purpose, my nerves poking insistently at my bladder. There was no toilet paper left. "Good job I had a tissue up my sleeve" I announced to the queue as I stepped out of the cubicle. I didn't. I needed them to think that I did.
On Tuesday, the tutor invited us to the Hop House for a drink after class. It had been arranged the week before but I had missed the memo, presumably too busy being embarrassedly self-involved in a corner somewhere. "Please come" he said, "even if it's just for a glass of water. It's important that we're comfortable with one another before the workshopping begins". I made up eleventy elaborate excuses in my head, each ridden as raw by cliché as the prose I'd just turned in. Pressing appointments. Poor health. Dependent relatives. I shuffled my papers, put on my coat and made for home.
Last week, I sought refuge in the jacks. A piss, a sense of purpose, my nerves poking insistently at my bladder. There was no toilet paper left. "Good job I had a tissue up my sleeve" I announced to the queue as I stepped out of the cubicle. I didn't. I needed them to think that I did.
On Tuesday, the tutor invited us to the Hop House for a drink after class. It had been arranged the week before but I had missed the memo, presumably too busy being embarrassedly self-involved in a corner somewhere. "Please come" he said, "even if it's just for a glass of water. It's important that we're comfortable with one another before the workshopping begins". I made up eleventy elaborate excuses in my head, each ridden as raw by cliché as the prose I'd just turned in. Pressing appointments. Poor health. Dependent relatives. I shuffled my papers, put on my coat and made for home.
