It’s so hard to witness someone being made fun of, simply because they’re misunderstood. I get flustered and bite my lip, because trying to defend them never does a thing. I also get either angry or sad, depending on whether or not I know the person who’s doing the mocking. In my experience, someone who’s so quick to come to a conclusion will refuse to see things another way. They have enough preconceived notions to keep themselves ignorant and secure.

Perhaps I’m like this because I can relate to what it’s like to be misunderstood. As an experiment in one of my English classes, I wrote an extremely graphic story about a necrophiliac doctor who ends up getting raped up the ass, and presented it. I wanted to show that the intentions of an artist are irrelevant if he or she is misunderstood, because others will continue to carelessly judge them. The more oddly my classmates stared at me while I was presenting, without trying to grasp what I was trying to do, the more I felt like my point was proved.

The thing is, someone is usually misunderstood because they don’t explain themselves well. A person can be extremely provocative, controversial, or complex, but as long as others see what they’re trying to get across then everything is fine. Of course, it’s much easier said than done, and someone is most often misunderstood because their ideas are harder to grasp. In addition to this, I find that the eccentricity related to a person with such ideas clouds their perceptions as to what they believe others are capable of comprehending.

Sometimes, I wish the world could see what I see.

Know what’s scary? Leave-in hair treatment like Infusium 23. I bought some by mistake cause I thought they only made conditioners, so I reached for the wrong bottle. I think I’ve been programmed to fear leaving in conditioner. Still, the leave-in treatment is fucking good. The tips of my hair are usually totally fried (I shower right before I sleep and have major bed-head every morning) but now they just seem so soft and manageable.

I now run the IT department for a laboratory of about 45 people. I’m in charge of all installations, upgrades, maintenance, back-ups, and security for both hardware and software. I make the annual computer budget, decide if/when anything needs to be purchased, and am involved with any development projects that come up. I can design my own projects if I feel like they’ll help the company. I’m involved in marketing, designing ads for magazines, flyers, trade shows, and webpages.

I have a huge desk that covers three sides, and share an office (not a cubicle) with one other person. I have a health plan, two weeks paid vacation per year, and most of the time I make my own work instead of someone telling me what to do. The industry is growing, secure, and has little impact from government cutbacks.

My boss is a good man with a great vision. The company pays for any training or classes that I take. I can spend as much time as I need doing tutorials or reading

I’ve signed the contract. I’ve been given a timecard, a locker, and a set of keys to the office and storage room. The hours are flexible enough for me to finish courses for this term, at which point I’ll switch only to work.

As with all my previous jobs, the first paycheque goes to my grandmothers, the second paycheque I split with my friends, the third paycheque goes to my savings.

I’ve started the perfect, perfect, perfect career.

Went to Tom and Mel’s pot luck yesterday, which ended up being a fun way to end an otherwise very long day. I had the chance to use their miniature zen garden, and my god was it relaxing. There must be something in the sand or something. I’d definitely consider getting one now if I ever found out what makes it so relaxing, but I’d be scared of Dolores pooing in it.

So here I am, standing at a table in the meeting room with my two slices of meat lovers, one slice of assorted, a bottle of Coke, and my Pizza Pizza garlic dipping sauce. I’m talking to someone, and my dipping sauce is on the table, since I always save it for the crust. This random guy walks by the table, sees my sauce, and dips his slice in it. Not only that, but he DOUBLE DIPS IT.

I had to stop for a few moments to understand what had just happened. I was completely taken aback, about how someone could just do something like that. Did he think that there was some sort of communal sauce or something? WHO THE FUCK DOES SOMETHING LIKE THAT?

There are fewer things more intimate than the dipping sauce. Sharing dipping sauce is as intimate as sharing bodily fluids, and this man, this black-bearded, inconsiderate man, just stuck his slice in my sauce.

He might as well have slapped his dick on my forehead.