Okay--it's REALLY late, and I'm tired, but a few things need to be mentioned.
A. I'm done for 8 weeks canyagimmehalellujiaamen? I thought you could!
B. Graduation was pretty awesome. More details tomorrow.
C. I am no longer mad at the prickweenie. In fact, he is a prickweenie no longer.
Now see, I've been kicking myself all week, telling myself that I was weak for walking away from a battle with this guy. What kind of person am I? Don't I have more backbone than that?
Except I do--I know I do. So why did I walk away?
Reason A: I heard a note in his voice--same note in my voice this time of year. And it didn't matter what our voices were saying, what this shivery-shatter-glass pitch said was, "I know I'm being unreasonable but just go ahead and fuck with me again and watch me lose my fucking mind!" When all was said and done, it was this sound that made me walk away. Sometimes, it really doesn't matter who is right and who is wrong, sometimes, what matters is who is under the most stress. This year, the answer was unequivocal: he was.
Reason B: Tonight. Tonight (for the first time in five years, believe it or not) I joined my colleagues for some beer (okay--they drank, I had to drive home tired), some wonderful fried food, and some REALLY LOUD conversation after graduation. I talked to everybody, including the erstwhile prickweenie, and I had a really good time. And I remembered, once again, the reason one does not go snapping people's head off, and the reason one backs off and gives colleagues the benefit of the doubt (even if it's a little late): they are colleagues, and you''re stuck in the same raft together, and just the fact that you chose the same profession gives you some common ground on which to build a healthy professional relationship and (if you're lucky) a friendship. In this case, we also had Julius Caesar and a burning need to know who topped--Brutus or Cassius. (I said Brutus, he disagreed. We both agreed Casca was the instigator who started fights and then jerked off in the corner while shit was going down.)
So, I'm glad I backed off. I'm really glad I kept my perspective--I recall repeating "We usually get along. I think we were both stressed," a lot. And for once, I'm really glad I kept my mouth shut (for the most part) and let it go. (I'd be surprised if he even remembers the incident.) I think it's a sign of growing up--maybe just a smidge. Don't hold it against me--I wouldn't change this evening for all the raging rows in the staff room in the world.