My annoyance is caused by the preconceived notion that Bruce should remember my name, or at the very least, not act as though we have never met before when, in fact, we have shared this college for five years, this attic for twelve months, and I have introduced myself to him, at length, three times over the course of the summer alone. Of course, Bruce, our lone and perpetual PhD student, is older than the dean, so in this instance, my preconceived notions may be even more problematic than normal. Realizing this, I suddenly find myself less annoyed.
My anger is caused by the perception of thoughtless injustice but serves more to both fuel and hide my ego-driven glee at the prospect of a battle waiting to be joined. I giggle over the dangerously outrageous drivel in the ‘competing’ (yes, I use the word in purely malicious facetiousness) conservative student newspaper and in my mind lay out all the so very easy ways I will tear it into little, itty, bitty pieces – in print, of course. I rail against the injustice of an administrative pronouncement and snort dismissively at the fictitious ‘good reasons’ they had for the decision. I let my classmates use me as the sword and shield behind which they all too willingly shelter from the wrath of faculty and staff while encouraging me to fight the battles they know I look forward to. This is a dangerous thing and so I forgo immediate action and allow my ardor to cool. Oh, how I’m going to miss student senate this year.
My boredom in Rodrigo’s Planning Research Methods Class is caused by the fact that Rodrigo is boring. Thus, my only remedy is not to mind that Rodrigo is boring and come prepared with an as yet unread copy of the New York Times. An ‘awful’ class becomes merely a class.
I am reminded of the Serenity Prayer, sans the first word.