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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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letter to sophistica in which i mourn the loss of bitter hateful sublingua
dearest: god, there must be coffee. i shouldn't even be writing when Not under the influence of caffeine really, but here we are: not having had enough coffee today and having just left the four person class. today, we had to discuss the proscpectuses (proscpecti?) we wrote for our projects. and when it came time to discuss Matthew's, everyone sat in silence. and the prof prompted, "ladies?" and there was a long, continued silence. so she said, "sublingua?" and i brought up a few points and then, because a student was waiting to talk to the prof (her office hours, if we run long, overlap with our arranged class time), she said, "oh, i'm sure you'll want to continue to discuss this point, but i have to go--" and, as soon as she left the room, everyone stayed seated, looking expectantly at me to finish what i had been saying to Matthew. so what could i do? i packed up and said, "see you, kids." and mel and i skipped happily off. actually, we didn't skip so happily off, as mel had to stop and invite Matthew and smirka--more on her in a moment--to coffee with us. both declined, which was fine. but this smirka? i don't like her so much. i'm probably just shooting my mouth off a bit here, but i don't. i'm trying real hard, but i don't. some evidence as to why she defies the liking: she never laughs really. she does have one of those simpery/edge of snicker kind of laughs that she breaks out when she feels the level of humor has reached her standards (whatever they are), but she never jokes (except for one time, when i was telling mel that she should quit her crappy mall job and i would try to get her a job in a lab, and smirka said, "i work in a lab," and i said, interestedly, "oh, really? which lab?" and she said, "the language lab," and i said, "oh, i thought you meant a Real lab" and that was her joking), and she never truly laughs. and i don't trust that. also? her prospectus was filled with these kinds of self-aggrandizing statements like: "My project is important because it will discuss issues of scholarship that have previously recieved only cursory or incidental attention..." and she goes on about her "innovative perspective" and how her work fits into the work of "other Milton scholars." and i'm not so down with a lack of critical SELF-awareness that she exhibits in having raised own-horn-blowing to an art form. so, yeah. if she were prettier (or pretty at all, as she looks like christina ricci's younger, underfed, dermatologist-deprived sister--and i can't believe i'm stooping to fucking calling her on her looks. i mean, what kind of person does this make me? ugh.), she'd be in a sorority where she could have some institutionalized way to lord it over the fat and the ugly. but as it is, she seems to have to scramble to take what she can get and probably that ordinarily means that she can take her scrawny little intellectual stick and beat all the stupid kids with it over the head and think herself subtle for having done so when the stupid kids are too polite to call her on it. but with this group? not so much. and with me? yeah. you know, i almost wish i had met her ten years ago so that i wouldn't feel so bad busting out the bitter, hateful sublingua roadshow on her ass. because the mantra these days is "i'm a good person. i'm a good person. i'm a good person." ad infinitum. ad nauseum. but i'm so right now wanting to get out the old cart and horse and take the bitter hateful sublingua show on the road, because this week, all the major malfunctioning fuckups are begging for a one-night-only kind of thing. and who am i to deny them bitter, hateful sublingua? i feel like celine dion must feel all the motherfucking time. i retired bitter hateful sublingua for a reason. i retired b.h.s. because, despite the fact that life was a lot more interesting when she was around and i never had to stop/stoop to talking to fucking morons when she was around, she kept trying to kill me. i mean, she wanted me gone. officially. but i truly enjoyed a lot of my time with her. i was me, only the smart version, on speed, with suicidal and homicidal bents and a brain to make up alibis on the fly. and my wits were sharp, kid. sharp. i could shred people at will and i never drew the blade unless it was going to be used. and i used it all the motherfucking time. and i miss her. it was so grand, sophistica! we could be queens again, sophistica! i'm ready for my closeup, mr. demille! i'm a good person. i'm a good person. i'm a good person. fuck me. this sucks. i'm committed to good sublingua, but why does good sublingua remind me of that angel in the cartoons that gets shoved off the shoulder of the rabbit engaged in moral philosophizing? buggs faustus, i think it was. wasn't it? shit. i'm going to cuss a bit here, so you should cover your ears if you're feeling delicate. fucking piece of shit. i want to be bad again. fuck diplomacy. i want to make enemies again. i want for the smirkas of the world to cross the fucking street when they see me coming. i want cringing in all its beautiful manifestations. i need to think more about this. i woke up this morning with the idea in my head that i was dying of cancer in some anonymous hospital room. i woke up crying. that's been my day so far. and you? sublingua
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