unimpressive.
after just three short days of being back in purgatory (think business hell with a 24-hour sushi chef), i'm already tired from not enough sleep, frustrated by too much finance ... and i just remembered how inadequate and immature this place makes me feel.
over winter break, i forgot what it's like to not be the smart child. i forgot that here, laughter is confused with immaturity. i forgot that at school, my inabilities are measured against older, albeit rarely wiser, peers with far more capabilities.
business school purgatory is this isolated economy in which currency is hidden within one's student id card. the gold standard is replaced by the diamond engagement ring standard. the population is exactly one-third minority. the government is a dictatorship. and the biggest inflation problem is grades.
oh yeah, and (sexual) demand is driven by the elastic supply of single, "b-school-hot" (which is very different than actually good looking) women.
(not to change the subject, but while we're talking about sexual demand ... i'm currently watching tv and there is a commercial for valtrex. how much would they have to pay you to go on in between segments of grey's anatomy to say "i have genital herpes?" fortunately, dear readers, i'm pleased to share with you the good news that my latest STD test assures me that i'm clean enough to scrub the floors; unfortunately, that guy on the commercial wasn't as picky as i am.)
anyway.
what has become evident to me as i begin term two of this (once enjoyable) learning is that purgatory disarms me of my best defense mechanisms. last semester, a select few of you were privileged enough to participate in an exercise that only harvard could dream up -- the best-self feedback -- or, as it is more lovingly called here: the-tell-me-how-good-i-am-project. thank you to everyone who assured me that, at my personal best, i'm an overachieving, demanding, stubborn, perfectionist bitch. a particular thank you for the positive oral sex feedback.
in pseudo-hell, there is no room for overachieving. no tolerance for stubbornness. and certainly no opportunity for perfection. but there are demands. unreasonable ones, nonetheless.
which makes me even more bitchy. on a positive note, i suppose that at least that's one element of my "best-self" defense mechanisms.
my new professor told us that expected equals average -- at least in the world of finance. so what makes this phenomenally difficult is that despite the fact that i'm not expected to be anything but average, i can't be content with mediocrity.
and so, i'm left to depend on that which differentiates me from the other brown-curly-haired-blue-eyed-ocd-jd-mba-cg-s:
an ability to make anything sexual.
and if that translates into inadequacy and immaturity, then bite me.
yes please.
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