girl voice with different emotions

The speaker expresses frustration about someone lecturing them about their job. They question what love really is and their ability to understand it at their young age. They mention wanting a lifetime of choices, but feeling like those choices have been taken away. The speaker then talks about their anger and how they control it in various situations. They apologize for laughing at someone's embarrassing moment and express a determination to fight for the rest of their life. They offer to stay with someone if they are allowed to save someone else. The speaker then criticizes someone's appearance and background, suggesting they come from a poor background. They also criticize the person's fashion choices and highlight the significance of the color blue in the fashion industry. They imply that the person's choice of clothing is not as independent as they think. This is the best day ever! Hey, if I wanted a lecture on how to do my job, I'd go back to college. But he did this to me, Stephan, which means he doesn't really know what love is. And to be honest, I don't know if I do. I'm 17 years old. How am I supposed to know any of this yet? I know that I love you, Stephan. I know that. But my future? Our lives together? Those were things I was supposed to deal with as they came along. I was supposed to grow up and decide that if I want to have kids and start a family, grow old, I was supposed to have a lifetime of those choices. And now that's all gone. I don't want to be a vampire. I am in a dress. I have gel in my hair. I haven't slept all night. I'm starved and I'm armed. Do not mess with me. I am great at controlling my anger. I do it all the time. When I'm catcalled in the streets, when incompetent men explain my own area of expertise to me, I pretty much do it every day. Because if I don't, I will get called emotional or difficult or might just literally get murdered. Gretchen, I'm sorry I laughed at you that time you got diarrhea at the Barnes and Nobles. And I'm sorry for telling everyone about it. And I'm sorry for repeating it now. No, I won't stop. For every minute of the rest of my life, I will fight. I will never stop trying to get away from you. But if you let me save him, I will go with you. I'll never run. I'll never try to escape. Just let me heal him. And you and I will be together forever, just like you want. Everything will be the way it is. I promise. Just like you want. Just let me heal him. You know what you look like to me with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well-scrubbed, hustling rube with little taste. Good nutrition has given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor, white trash. Are you, Officer Sterling? That accent you're trying so desperately to shed. Pure West Virginia. What was your father, dear? Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of the lamp? And, oh, how quickly the boys found you in all those tedious, sticky fumblings in the backseat of cars while you could only dream of getting out. Getting anywhere. Getting all the way to the FBI. This stuff? Oh, okay, I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh, I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue. It's not turquoise. It's not lapis. It's actually cerulean. You're also blindly unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic, casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs. And so it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room from a pile of stuff.