Desperate bitterness

Why the fuck am I here?
I'm sitting in a Starbucks in the god damn University Hospital at one in the morning. There are med students all around me with laptops and textbooks trying to study.
I do not approve of this adventure.

I ease the tedium of my helpless silence as the five around me chat away with embarrassing volume by sucking my coffee from the little oval hole in the lid.
Not bad: load this up with enough milk and sugar and I could drink it casually.

Videogames, sex, random inside jokes, new cell phones, videogames, more sex: there are few places in the conversation to work myself into. Bitterness laced with ennui seeps in. I content myself with my coffee, in its ridiculous little philosophical paper cup, slouched in my seat, legs crossed.

Somehow the topic of conversation comes to my major. English. The fat one looks me straight in the eye and asks me, "So what are you going to do with that?"
Her tone is mocking, derisive. An hour later while driving home I would think of a hundred frightening, unfriendly things to growl in return, but I respond with a simple "Whatever I want." The others get a laugh out of this. That was sort of my intention; I'll take my fair share of bullshit if it means I don't have to snap at someone and cause a scene. I sip my coffee, keeping eye contact, giving her the coldest hint of a glare over the rim of the cup. She quips with something about being unemployed, I give a simple shrug. Razor blades and spite start boiling in my stomach, I fall silent for the rest of the night.

Your first words to me had to be that. You assume I'm a completely incompetent, lost little boy, floundering through academia in a desperate attempt to find myself in this big, scary world.

I have never been more sure of myself than I am at this moment in my life.