I love you. Seriously. Can't you smell it?

I lack emotional content. Since I have disemployed myself and no longer have access to professional help, I am forced to take every value meal decision as a parable towards insight into life. Therefore I am the only person in my aforeposted class taking each exercise as a Rorschach ink blot test. Previously I believed expressing emotional discontent would be sufficient in itself. Apparently I was supposed to follow the ellipses with ...and I am saddened by the fact that I am viewed as having the warmth of a tin can. A battle tactic of improland is to create a character from an exaggerated, high emotional point of view. I lose in this fight and fear takes over. Perhaps this may be because every other student is an actor or that my parents never hugged me. Damn you daddy! (teeth clenched, fist pounding, drink raised). Since physical retreat 4 times a class would be awkward, I turn to mental retreat via derisive action or flatlining the emotional atmosphere to a manageable wooden plank's level. Everything is tidied up with a witty one-liner, a distracting jig or punch to the face (as a last resort, of course).

Our graduation show is quickly approaching. Although I have completely enjoyed the class and my classmates, my ego hurts and would like to put its clothes back on. I expect to contemplate my appearance or absence for the next 172,800 seconds.