Today, my boss brought me into her office just to talk. Somewhere along the lines of the conversation, she said that, when I’m quiet, I have facial expressions that make me seem angry.
Which is an unfortunate problem for those of us with Resting Bitch Face.
However, if my facial expressions seem angry during a work gig, it could be because I have a short attention-span, and we sit and look at powerpoints for 3-4 hours at once. I can’t stay with you for that long. One hour in, and I’m gone until you send us packing.
Which is a pity, because I know that the presentations are excellent.
I zone out completely for hours at a time, just thinking about the stories I want to get home and finish.
Because seriously, living in a fictional world beats the fuck out of the real one.
But it isn’t a case of RBF that makes me look like I’m ready to pounce for bloody murder. Not all the tales I think up in my head are pleasant. Most of them are pretty damn dreary. I’d need pharmaceutical help if I was smiling while I was dreaming up a scenario very reminiscent of a scene from Passion of the Christ.
Alright, not Passion of the Christ, but on a scale of one to terrifying, I’m probably swimming somewhere in the realm of a chainsaw massacre. Just not in Texas.
Connecticut. Yeah. In Connecticut.
The other problem she brought to my attention is that I tend to say things that make it seem like I’m lazy and unwilling to work.
I do say things of that nature, but it’s always in jest. I can’t control my mouth. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable. Anxiety blinds my rationality.
Excuses, excuses. Get it together.
Time to get to the chopper. This world ain’t big enough for all of us, hombre. I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse. Funny racist Arabic phrase. Everybody start Kung Fu Fighting. Lemme just cause two World Wars.
I have a right to bear arms.