I finally presented in my British Lit class today. I had to give a 10 minute presentation on Edmund Spenser’s, The Shepheardes Calender. I volunteered to go first on the 10th of this month, and not for an hour have I stopped thinking about it since then. Last night I was so anxious I couldn’t fall asleep until 5, and I was up at 8, an hour before my alarm. I couldn’t eat breakfast. I cried on my way to school. I dry heaved in the bathroom for 20 minutes before class. A few of my friends were assuring me that I’d be great. “Don’t worry! He’ll be easy on you! You volunteered!!” AND LIKE THAT’S NOT THE PROBLEM. I don’t care about my grade. I need to focus on not collapsing right now, thanx. I got up there with my Powerpoint clicker and my 8 page essay in my push up bra and black long sleeve v-neck and I kicked fucking ass. 6 people asked questions at the end! And I knew the answer to every single one. Not like my presentation was incomplete, but like they wanted to know more about this incredibly boring shit that I am now an absolute expert on. Like, did you know Queen Elizabeth I was molested by her aunt and uncle? YEAH, CRAZY, I KNOW.
I was still feeling frisky six hours later, so I engaged a young man in a debate about ecofeminism. He was wearing sweatpants and an ironic U.S. flag t-shirt.