Misplaced

The other day, I had my first one on one evaluation with my boss. I entered the room with sweaty palms and slight pounding on my chest. No, I wasn't scared that I didn't perform well enough to earn that regularization. Regardless, I probably won't even make it to that point by choice. It's the rejection that pricks me and the perfectionist dwelling inside me that doesn't know how to internalize constructive criticism. I mastered the facade of convincing your critic that you are amenable and unattached to your flaws, but somehow being rated less than average makes me feel less of a person. Pride, no other. I wasn't rated less than average, however. We were toying around with the word "okay". I was okay, I guess. Getting more than that would be ironically unsettling because I'm well-aware of how I run things on my desk. I'm quite placid, no doubt, and questionable when reporting things because I make such a bad liar. I can't even feign interest in my work in front of my boss. He is an articulate man and as susceptible others might be to his words, all I hear is a jumble of lines like this job is being sold to me over and over, like an annoying salesman trying to convince a business man to buy his product through false advertising. I didn't have to tell him how I felt about my job. All I had to do was sign my evaluation. He then told me

"Maybe we could a find a way for you to appreciate and love what you do" 

He knows I don't, and I replied "Yes, I'm open to that." I was not. Not here. I can't find love here.