I swear to god, I almost lost my fucking mind in there. It was my final presentation for the Capstone project – the big one, the make-or-break for my portfolio, the thing that’s supposed to launch me into… well, something. Anything that pays more than $25 an hour and doesn’t involve chasing invoices for six weeks. Anyway. It’s a silent lecture hall, packed with students, professors, even some alumni who are apparently there to judge our potential. The air was thick with that nervous anticipation, you know? Like everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for someone to screw up. I was maybe ten minutes in, hitting my stride, explaining the methodology behind my entire project, the complex layering of data and aesthetic choices – honestly, I was doing a good job. I had visuals, I had stats, I even had a couple of perfectly rehearsed anecdotes. And then I looked at Professor Miller. Just a glance, really. He was sitting in the front row, arms crossed, face a complete blank. Not bored, not engaged, just… utterly neutral. Like he was watching paint dry, or maybe judging a particularly uninspired pigeon. And in that instant, something just snapped in my brain. I felt this sudden, completely unhinged urge to scream. Not just a little yell, but a full-throated, ear-splitting "FUCK YOU, MILLER!" right into the microphone. Imagine it – the collective gasp, the immediate silence, the way everyone would whip their heads around to stare. The sheer, unadulterated chaos of it. It wasn’t even because he’d said anything or done anything specific to piss me off *in that moment*. It was just… everything. The months of unpaid internships, the late nights fueled by cheap coffee, the constant hustling for the next gig, the anxiety about rent, the endless feeling that I’m one bad project away from living in a cardboard box. All of that just condensed into this white-hot rage, aimed squarely at his perfectly impassive face. I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would shatter. My hands started to shake, a tiny tremor I hoped no one else could see. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, drowning out the sound of my own voice, which I somehow managed to keep steady. I just kept talking, kept the words flowing, even as this insane, primal scream was battling to erupt from my chest. It felt like an out-of-body experience, watching myself present while a feral animal clawed its way out of my throat. I finished the presentation, answered the questions, even managed a polite smile. But inside, I was a goddamn riot. I’m home now, or at least, on my friend's couch, staring at the ceiling, still buzzing with that weird, violent energy. My stomach hurts from clenching it for so long. The presentation is over, it’s done, I probably did fine. But the feeling hasn't gone away. That almost-scream, it’s still rattling around in there, a constant hum under my skin. Like I just barely dodged a bullet, but the impact still sent shrapnel flying. And now I’m just… waiting for it to hit something else. Or someone. Who knows.