6:36 p.m. - January 27, 2003
I admit I was slightly cocky in my assumption that the proposals would cause a stir. I mean, I did make sure my name was emblazoned on each page and the topics are pressing, au courant, and "in" in this field. And cocky enough to be nonchalant but we all know the trepidation and meek delivery for your consideration, masters all, Can I play with the big kids? and how badly I want/ed to take my place in the sun. I feed off this and I'm hungry. Does it matter that this is the largest conference of my colleagues in the United States and I crave a bit more oohing and aahing before I've taken my fill? I should be more preoccupied with the reasons for this craving rather than with the outward manifestations - imperfection, rejection, a yawn or two. I'm an up-and-coming star, damnit! and I want to be treated as such, not as a rube. There! I said it. I'm needy. I need applause and the distinct scent of Yes, I am better than you and step back else you come too close.
Half joking, half serious. I really wanted to present at this conference and that doesn't seem to be in the cards for me. I'll live but I will feel embarrassed to be in the audience instead of before it.
Damn. Why am I needy all of a sudden? It is not flattering.
Arrived home this afternoon, booted up the computer, opened up the key chapter and my eyes rebelled, my head flinched and my brain said Uh, no, not tonight the same way your girlfriend/wife/partner/fuckbuddy/creepy guy in the alley turns aside and mutters I have a headache. I haven't even shot my load yet and the game's over, at least for tonight. Now that is a sobering thought.
Speaking of loads.
But no! I will not call him. Jesus. How quickly the transition between her and him goes unnoticed.
What the hell am I talking about?