bug splat

ever feel like bug splat?

it's kinda how i feel these days. flattened to motionlessness by all the pressure, extremities all splayed at funky angles, weird expression on my face.

except not quite. because bugs, after they hit the windshield, die. and i imagine them "facing" the windshield.

nope. i feel pinned up against the wall, facing outward to fully view my tormentors, and most certainly still alive. i'm sort of being hit full on in the face by a torrent of humiliation when i don't know the correct answers to the questions shooting out of their fire hoses.

or maybe not a torrent. maybe more like tennis balls being served at you. donk. thud. ow.

all in a comical sort of way, because really, they're very good-natured about it. they don't mean to be torturing me.

is it i whose humiliation threshold is so low that i feel embarrassed when perhaps i needn't? am i the reason for my own mortification?

of course.

if you can understand that.

stupid pride.