forty. eight.

[sometimes i want to write forty like fourty. why is that?]

"Hi, I'm early, I'm at 3:15."
It was 3:00. No one was in Dr. Sunderbruch's office. I'm meeting him for my conference on the paper that I was doing. I'm sick, and my voice is shot. I'm wearing sweatpants.
"Oh, that's fine. You can come in. Take a seat." He's all business. Shoot. I don't feel well. I want to leave. I walk in and sit down.
"Ok, so let's discuss your project A. What article do you have that you plan to argue against?"
I pull out my article. It's not good. I felt good about it before I entered the room, but as soon as I pulled it out I knew I was done for. I didn't know what was wrong, but his eyebrows furrowed as he looked it over. He was confused. Why would I choose this? Shoot shoot shoot.
"So what are you planning to do with this? What's your argument?"
I tried to tell him. I squeaked out some words. I squeaked out some more.
"You're all over the place. You need to be focused. I ask you one question you say this. I ask you another question you say that. Give me ten words."
I had no words. I gave him fifteen. No word worked well with the previous. They all just came tumbling out. Please, let me leave. Let me go. Bury me in a hole. Please.
He began to work with me a little. Why was he so confused? Did he read my first paper? It's obvious that argumentative writing is not my thing. We finish discussing project A.
He pulls out my first completed paper.
"Well, now. Let's look at your first rhetorical strategy. I have to admit..." he begins to smile. He's pleased with my work. "I have to admit that..." He lists the title of my paper. Shoot.
Shoot shoot shoot.
That's not my paper. I don't even know what that title means.
"I... I'm sorry." I croak. "I think you've got the wrong paper. I didn't write that."
"You didn't write this?"
"No. No I didn't. Sorry to disappoint."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Christina."
Understanding lights up his face. He pulls out my paper. Ohhh. Right. The student who doesn't know how to write argumentative papers. It suddenly dawns on him why I stumbled all over myself with my project A assignment.
"Oh, ok. Christina. Right."
His voice is suddenly a little more sympathetic. Oh yes. Christina. The stupid child. I'm touched by his sympathy. I want to cry. I'm not used to being the stupid child.
We reviewed my first paper. I'm not focused enough. Fix this, fix that, bring it back, you'll get a good grade. Do more research on project A and come back with a strong article and a strong argument by Friday. Email me.
Thanks. Thank you. I'll just add that to my list of things to get done in the next 48 hours. My list is at about 53 hours of work. Even if I didn't sleep, I'd still be behind.
I'm sick. Can't I just claim sick and skip all this?
"I hope you feel better. You don't sound well. Would you like a cough drop?" He pulls cough drops out of his desk. He would. His wife is a renowned pediatrician. I want to cry again. I laugh a little to try and mask it.
"I'm fine, I've been popping vitamins all day."
"Good. Ok, well that's all I have for you then. Sorry I forgot your name, Christina."
"That's ok. Goodbye."
I leave his office.
Shoot.
Shoot shoot shoot.
Should have taken creative writing...