My p00v00ted mind











{October 12, 2009}  

Why is it that I can’t even go home without any mention of the dreaded work I have to face next year?

Packed my bag of exam papers and all ready to go home, went downstairs to indicate my exit, and there she was, all smiling with an arm outstretched. “Come, Joanna, I need to talk to you.”

And so, it was another 40 minutes of grill and torture, another 40 minutes of cajoling, humouring and persuading. I’m so sick and tired of this; I’ve already uttered my consent grudgingly the other time, didn’t I? Why a second round now?

This time, the talk was peppered with assignments for me for the coming holidays.

I’m really tired. Really.

This time I didn’t cry, but I felt no less upset. It’s distressing. It’s stressful. And I just want to get out.



{October 7, 2009}  

I almost burst out into tears this afternoon. In the presence of 3 of the most highly-ranked people in my working place. I was tearing already before I left the place, and thankfully nobody saw it.

I feel so pressured. I was almost forced into accepting something I did not want. They looked like they didn’t want to let me go unless I say yes. In the end I was pressured to say yes just so that I could go before bursting into tears and looking like a fool.

I don’t know why I don’t want what they are offering me, but I just feel uncomfortable about it. I really don’t like it, and regardless of how much I kept rejecting them, they took turns to cajole, humour and persuade me. I almost lost it and wanted to just snap at them, telling them that I really don’t want it and that I don’t care what they are going to do to me after this, but then one of them has helped me a great deal since I entered this place and I didn’t want to offend her.

When they finally let me go after I grudgingly said a shaking yes, I had tears in my eyes even before I walked out of that room. Walking up the stairs to get my bag to go home, I avoided eye contact with everyone, hoping no one would ask me why I was crying.

Then I cried the whole cab ride home. The driver must have thought I was freaking mad. And I am. Not mad as in crazy, although I guess I would be sooner or later, but mad as in really livid. I’m so angry at myself for giving in to pressure, so angry with them for trying their best to keep me in the room until I nod my head.

When can I ever be happy again?



{October 1, 2009}  

Why do I feel like my whole world is crashing down on me?

 

Maybe because it is.



et cetera