Confessions of an Oral Idiot

So, today, I made a fool of myself in class. Once more, as so many times before, I said what I meant to say, but not in the way I meant to say it.

I'm sitting in my English class, and the professor is going around the room asking each student what they thought of today's reading. No one had finished it, of course, so I didn't feel guilty about being among that number ... but not liking it? That was another problem.

It was Franz Kafka's "The Trial." So far, it's a sort of mixture of all Enlightenment French novels ever written, plus C. S. Lewis's "Dark Tower," with a dash of Lewis Carroll thrown in for good measure. The second chapter, where the protagonist goes to the first hearing with all the old men in long beards, seems a grown-up, tragi-satirical version of the Knave's trial by the Queen of Hearts in "Wonderland."

So, when the professor comes to me and gives me the the nod to "speak now, or forever hold your peace," I reply (with oh-so-charming frankness), "Well, I don't care for it much ..."

This invites a round of half-suppressed giggles through the room.

"Oh, you don't care for it much, eh?" The prof replies, giving that half-amused, half-unbelieving smile.

"Well," I add stupidity to idiocy, "I'm willing to finish it ... and ..." -- falling into those oh-so-expressive inaudible mutters of a middle-schooler.

GOSH. Can you ever find anyone who sounds more stuck up???

That's not what I mean, I wanted to plead my case. But he had already moved on to the next person.

It was what I meant, just not in that way. I haven't particularly cared for it so far, but that doesn't mean that I won't like it as I get deeper in. I'm not a huge fan of this style of book, but that doesn't mean that I'm not willing to learn to like it. I'm willing to give it a chance -- rather, I'm hoping the book is willing to give me another chance to learn to like it. And even when it's all done, and I've finished it, I don't HAVE to like it or enjoy it, but that doesn't mean that I won't appreciate its literary and artistic qualities, its historical or social significance, etc., etc., etc. ...

Sigh. I don't particularly like Beethoven, but that doesn't mean I don't recognize him as a genius composer. I don't really enjoy learning about biology, but that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate its all-important effects on my life. I used to hate Dickens, but I've grown past that and come to love him. Give me a chance!

I suppose the prof will forget all about it. I suppose the other kids in the class will smirk and snort and go their own ways. But I'm the one left kicking myself. How is it that the right words can be so confused to mean the wrong thing?