Office Hours

Playwright professor today: "Well, you're a bubbling young optimist."
After I said, "Well, obviously there are multiple sides to every issue. If there were one clear right side, we would all just do it."
And he laughed, but not sincerely.
And he shook his head.
And I felt huge in his office chair, in his office. Not like my BUTT was too big, not like that. Like, "Oh. All my pieces are chipping off of me at a rate of a million chips per second? And this tiny angular boxy space is going to be, like, wrecked with chips? Like, soon? Like, I need to get out?"

I filled up my water bottle in the hallway. A long highway with all white doors. All closed. All belonging to professers. Not really. Belonging to a university. The one behind me had flyers for theatre business workshops, and there was this picture. A little drawing of a glass of water. It was labeled "water" and "air" and the text said, "It's technically always half full."

Accumulating Paper

"Hey, ____. How do you feel about me borrowing that play?" And my professor Indy blinked and awkwardly turned aside and answered a different question, but I stood patiently awaiting my response. The reading is due Wednesday. This was last Wednesday. He would have to part with his copy for a week. A little dinko copy. He lined up his stack of papers intently with his left hand. "Are you asking if you can actually borrow my copy?" He winced. So, I said, "Oh, it's okay," and started walking out of class. He asked, "Did you not...it was in the bookstore. There were copies in the bookstore." But I didn't go to the bookstore. I just bought all the big anthologies online.

Books, I love them, but also they're so annoying. You can't throw out a book. It doesn't seem kind. But, there are books I don't need. I try to tie off the pouch early. I borrow when I can. I e-read. I don't want to amass the paper piles. Or cardboard piles from Amazon. Or money piles transferred to Barnes and Nobles' shareholders.

I left class feeling...icky. Yes, just icky. I'm sure no harm was meant, but I guess it never feels good to be denied? What am I going to do? Dip the play in peanut butter? Is it just common policy, or is it just me? And to turn it back on me. Like how could I even consider asking when I should be spending my incredibly teensy stipend on Wally Shawn plays from the 90s? My nerve!

Furthermore, I just checked the e-mailed list of books Indy sent pre-school. Turns out I DID order them all, and this play was left off. Really now. Of course, I would sound insane to mention such a petty detail, which is why I am writing about it on my blog.