Avoidance of My Aversion

I had to take a few minutes out of my studying time to write a blog entry.  I’m studying for an exam in fish ecology (fiskavistfræði).  The exam is on Thursday and I’m not too worried about my potential for achieving a decent grade.  But I do have a little problem in concentrating while studying.  You see, when the first several lectures of the class were given by the author of our text book.  Now, this is a great opportunity because he really is considered to be an expert in the field and I felt very excited about hearing him talk as well as hearing lectures in English!  But now that I’m re-reading his book, I hear and see him as I read.  He was not a very attractive man.  Normally, that would only mean that his face would disappear into my foggy memory, never to be seen again by my mind’s eye.  However, this did not happen.  No, his face haunts me as I read his words.  Actually, it’s not his whole face, just one little, teensy tinsy part of it:  his tongue.  I know I’m becoming rather fixated on something that I shouldn’t have even noticed, but i can’t help it.  This is like when you have a sore in your mouth or a fine splinter that’s annoying but not painful enough to make you stop playing with it until it won’t heal properly.  The problem I’m having is that Mr. Wooton, the brilliant and knowledgeable author of Ecology of Teleost Fishes, had a big yucky knob on the end of his tongue and as he was talking he kept licking his lips (as any of us do).  Each time he did so, that disgusting thing lurched out of its cave to mock me.  “Am I not disgusting,” it would say.  Later, “You can’t stop looking at me!”  Finally, “pay no attention to the words, focus on me!”  For the entire two days that we listened to lectures, I was tormented by the tongue-knob (Lingua diabolus Lineas).  I dreamed of that nasty wet bulb lurching toward me!  I lay awake nights seeing this hideous knurl coming out of its cave to taunt me.  
As I sat there listening to fascinating and easily understandable lectures, I couldn’t help but focus on that little bulbous thing on the end of his tongue.  I wanted to chop it off with a sharp scythe every time it popped out.  I’m ashamed to admit all this because I don’t want you to think that I judge everyone on the basis of outward appearance.  The truth is that I admire Robert Wooton.  He impressed me to no end with his understanding, knowledge and ability to teach others.  I wish him only the best.  I hope he doesn’t see this because I’m sure that my little obsession would probably have some negative effect on his impression either of me or himself.  But I cannot live with the secret fear any longer.  I must air this thing out in the hopes that I will be able to find solace in the admission.  Dare I dream that maybe by some strange twist of fate, there is someone else in the class who suffered the same fate as I?  Is it possible that there is someone else out there struggling to control traumatized nerves long enough to concentrate on gleaning understanding of the complex workings of fish populations from the words formed by the tongue-knob?  
No, I fear that I am alone in this cold dark void of disquietude and abhorrence.  I shall likely have to traverse the North Atlantic someday to do battle with this aversion by meeting him face to tongue-knob, armed only with inner fortitude.  But, alas the cruel dominatrix of Fate has twisted me into singular path forward and I have to delay my release from this mental prison.  I must apply my every will to the avoidance of my aversion so that I can prove to myself, my professor, and the world that I have matriculated the subject of fish ecology into the annals of my intellectual cognizance.