Fear of failure.
The Four Horsemen of Mypocalypse.
The horsemen have been stampeding through the strange terrain of my brain.
I am asking myself, “What ever would possess a social anxiety ridden, menopausal woman to take on this band of thugs?” Why on earth would I think it is a good idea to drag my mental health through the ringer again on the heels of a near breakdown?
My first Listen To Your Mother rehearsal happened last night.
I went to work an hour early so I could leave early then drove over two hours to spend the next three hours in a room with 12 strangers.
You guys, these are some fascinating women telling stories that made me laugh and brought me tears more than once.
They had dinner catered in that was amazing. I saw a promotional poster with my name on it. Weird.
As I looked at the poster, I confided to the women sitting next to me that I was preoccupied with not spilling any food or drink on the table or on myself.
Then I took a bite of cake that turned out to be a ‘not bite’ of cake. The cake leaped off the fork, bounced off my right boob, and landed on the floor. The women to my left laughed her ass off. I love her.
This morning, Randy and I talked about the anxiety stampede going on in my brain.
Me: People will see this on YouTube. I’ll lose the anonymity. What if I suck? This feels like a job interview. What if I fail? People will lose faith in me. Or, for fuck’s sake, I’m being delusional thinking that people consider my writing at all.
Randy: Practice. Read your story a couple times a day. That’s what actors do.
Me: I’m not an actor.
Randy: We’re all actors. Everyone wears a persona. We show people a facets of ourselves. Or, we can show a total different person.
Me: What if people don’t laugh?
Randy: Many people have laughed. I read your comments. You’re road tested. And what you do on stage doesn’t negate what you’ve written.
Me: That makes me sound like a car. Oh god, I’m a K-car, aren’t I? I am a goddamn K-car.
Randy: Yeah, whatever, Gremlin.
During our conversation, a fifth horseman, the A.D.D. asshole, galloped into my brain. I thought I heard music coming from somewhere. I bought a new alarm clock for the first time in 30 years. This one has a radio and actually keeps correct time. This is something I haven’t experienced in over a year. I’ve finally entered the 90s with my little cube clock radio.
I picked the clock up mid-sentence and held it to my ear. I didn’t hear anything so I put it down.
Me: You didn’t say anything when I held the alarm clock to my ear.
Randy: You did what?
Me: Just now when we were talking, I picked up the alarm clock and held it to my head and you were looking right at me. You don’t remember that? From 37 seconds ago?
Apparently, random acts of weirdness don’t even register anymore.
Listen To Your Mother isn’t the only thing that let the horses out of the barn. The anthology I am in, Jen Mann’s I Still Just Want To Pee Alone comes out in a little over a week. I still haven’t connected with seeing my name on this book. I am detached and still think it might have been a mistake. I’m sure I’ll feel a surge of excitement when I hold a copy in my hands. I’ll let you guys know how great that feeling is and how you can feel that excitement yourselves. Really, I’ll even have links.
The king of the anxiety inducement has been something else, though. I started working on a much bigger project. I planned on writing a book. Really. I planned to start writing it any day now. I mean, I was due, as that has been my plan for over three years now. That’s a lie, three years is grossly understated.
Thanks to some extremely exciting encouragement, my plan is no longer a ‘hazy, just out of my reach in the future’ plan. My plan is now an active plan.
Wish me luck.
It occurs to me in contemplating my title, that the television shows that I like the most have apocalypse issues. Buffy, Doctor Who, Supernatural and The Walking Dead.
While I realize, in the big scheme of things, this isn’t horrible, but I was going to see Norman Reedus on Saturday. Yes. I was going to see Norman Reedus and get my picture taken with him. Did I buy my ticket to Horrorhound before it sold out? No. No I did not. I am ridiculously pouty over this.
There’s still a chance, though. I bitched about it on Facebook and a guy I used to work with posted that he has two weekend passes that he can’t use. I messaged him to let him know I would take them and as of this moment, haven’t heard back from him. I need all your collected good thoughts to force the universe to give me those passes. It’s Daryl, y’all.