But what have we moved on to, you ask?
"Stephanie, we just want you to get a job. Just a job. We don't want to be overwhelmed or underwhelmed. We just want to be whelmed. That's all that we ask."
Lost hope, I answer.
It has happened. They have settled. I have, once and for all, forced submergence of their faith in me. Baptized them with my waters of inadequacy, if you will.
Cool.
For those who have lived to tell of the experience, I think you will agree that selective hearing is a prominent, familial characteristic. What can I say, we try. Peer pressure and word twisting. It is what my family does best.
Peer pressure aside, let me dwell on this whole selective hearing shtick.
What I say:
I can write a successful press release on mechanisms, machines and men of which I know nothing about.
What they hear:
I like writing about boys.
What I say:
The system had been reconfigured, so instead of selling shoes I had to rewrite basic code so the website wouldn't look like complete jibberish.
What they hear:
I updated my MySpace page at work.
What I say:
I didn't really feel like going out and meeting them after dinner, so I just stayed at home and read.
What they hear:
I am socially inept. And sad.
What I say:
I don't have class tomorrow and I finished all three of my books yesterday, so I decided to go out with my friends, but just for about an hour or so.
What they hear:
I have a drinking problem. Please seek help.
What I say:
I've already had dinner, but I'll just come along for the company and not order anything.
What they hear:
I haven't eaten in three weeks.
Speaking with haste has always worked well for me. By "well" I mean that I never feel the need to further explain myself. Not exactly, "well" in the sense that people understand exactly what I mean and can decipher if I am joking or being dead serious. Totally their problem, not mine. Many of you have admitted never knowing my intentions. Am I serious? Am I funny? Am I dangerous?
Beats me.
Here's the thing. I am not incapable. I am not lazy. I am not apathetic. I have never wanted to admit this to anyone because bragging is not my strong suit, but I am growing weak from masking the truth. So. Here it is.
I am a child genius. Or was, rather. I was a child genius. Now, I'm just regular, young adult genius. It's a hard life dealing with all of you people and your average levels of intelligence. Having to dumb down my words so that you can comprehend the meaning is a tiring task. When I have that dismissive look on my face during a conversation, it isn't one of boredom or lack of compassion. That? That is simply me being so unimpressed with whatever you are saying that it literally feels as if a very small portion of my right hemisphere is being depleted. But alas, it is not. Why? Because you could never make me any less of a genius. I am so genius that ungeniusing my genius is inviable, inconceivable and unfathomable. Unfathomable, for you. Me? I can fathom the shit out of it. Because that is how genius I am.
I speak with haste to better communicate with all of you and your normal sized brains. Very similar to selective hearing, what I say is often times a very condensed version of my actual thought. Let me give you a couple of examples.
What I think:
A child of several incarnations, she listens to her own tales. She laughs at her own jokes and follows her own advice. Some of us think she has just allowed her unusual beauty to cloud her vision of the world.
What I say:
Bitch is crazy.
What I think:
Metaphorically, he bends in the fingers of his right-hand as though he were holding a cup. He raises it up and acts out the motions of pouring a libation. The imaginative opening in his forearm is the very essence of his manhood and his expectations from this fallen world. Alkalinity is his hand's possession, once shaken will thrive in his veins before ending all that he knows to be good.
What I say:
He looks like he wants to kill himself.
What I think:
This is your family drum; beat it, my wife.
What I say:
Sup?
What I think:
Bring your ears nearer, my friends, so that I may whisper you a secret.
What I say:
HOLY SHIT; GUESS WHAT!?
What I think:
He moves up to her and changes his attitude to one of supplication.
What I say:
Whipped.
What I think:
Nine months of unwholesome desires and evil dreams. The hour has finally arrived for the breaking of the amnion.
What I say:
Plan B.
I am done. Way too smart for this, I suppose. Update from the champions around me.
Chopstick gives her perspective on honorable African suicide strategies. Drowning preserves the body. The use of a gun is "way too colonial," and would be shameful to the African culture. That's good, Chopstick. Did they teach you that in Honors Social Studies? I'm not sure where you're getting your information or umbilical tie to ancient culture, but I am concerned with the reading material you choose to spend your down time with.
Milkshake is giving his argument on globalization although it has no correlation to what we are discussing. The ultimate state of being, in his opinion, is for one to feel as if he or she is a citizen of the entire world. Statelessness is a problem and "we should reach out to fill the void of exclusivity." Of course we should. That is totally what we should be doing. Seems easy enough.
Blank Canvas hasn't spoken since the first twenty minutes of class. Instead, he is playing Tetris on his phone. My god, there may be hope for him after all.