Sometimes I feel so angry, I want to punch my fist through someone's face, like in those really cool, violent movies. Like today, when I thought I was going to meet with my department chair about a job offer, but instead was asked about sexual harassment in school. I don't mind the question, but I genuinely mind the loss of time spent wondering and hoping about the meaning of this meeting. It may seem trivial, but I got my damn hopes up, and instead of getting a nice job that would fund my occasional food-and-shelter-addiction, I got to confirm that no professor has ever pressured me for sex. Not an efficient use of my time. Silver lining? At least I got to make an impression with the new dean. That's a pretty slim sliver lining, though. Compared to the possibility to almost-gainful employment. Or any of the other interesting things I had cooked up. But, alas, disappointment is old friend who doesn't care what else you have going on, he's crashing on your mental couch all week. That metaphor may not have worked.
I had hoped by this point in writing I would have stumbled across some sort of larger meaning, something about the nature of expectations or the troubling frequency of sexualization in what should be de-sexualized contexts. But instead I am wrapped up in my own frustration and self-centeredly fantasizing about a larger bank account. I may be becoming a less interesting person.
Only time will tell.