she sits across from me and immediately i feel intimidated. our eyes meet and i begin to shuffle the things on the desk, the only thing separating us. i start to speak and it begins like gibberish but apparently she nods and pulls out a pen and writes things down like what i'm saying makes sense. i get caught up in the moment and stare dumbly at the notepad she has. a moment of silence passes and then i continue with my mouth moving faster than my brain can string together a complete sentence which often leads me to utter a few "erms" and "aaahs" in between.
In that half and hour or so, i stammer my way through points i've scribbled down on paper and address each matter at random so much so i was worried she'd get lost in my ramblings. i'd post a few questions and she'd answer each one in perfect articulation of common sense that i feel like an idiot for asking.
i supress the urge to rip my tongue out so that i can stop talking and i continue, filling the gaps of silence and forcing myself to look confident while i dodge her eyes ever so often.
it's madness i swear.
it's hard to say things and look at them straight in the eye while saying it. the rejection is there, the hope misplaced and apparently i don't seem to be telling them what they want to hear.
are parents being too ambitious? is hoping the best for their child wrong?
i hate parent-teacher conference week.
Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect - Margaret Mitchell
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