Thursday, March 12, 2009

Fear Factor

I don't have a lot of time right now, so forgive me if this is a little more stream-of-consciousness than we're used to.

I have a meeting with the Art Institute in a few hours. I'm going to ask about my options for pursuing a degree in computer science/web design/whatever. I did this once already at the Technical University on Tuesday. THAT meeting was exceptional and really underlined how much I want to continue my education... and then immediately slammed me with lots of questions about how to pay for it, what exactly to study, and how not to fuck it up.

I really want this. and now it's hard to type because my fingers are ice cold with TERROR. Remember that thing I wrote about how I won't spend my life crippled with fear over what might come to pass? Well, part of that outrage is because I seem to be automatically programmed to inject fear into the most innocuous of situations. These days I get panicky (only sometimes) if I have to go to the store by myself. Today it's a meeting with someone who might change my life, and the bottom has fallen out from my stomach and I'm shivering and on the glassy edge again. I'm terrified of ... of what? of being wrong? of being stupid? of making a bad choice?

Clearly none of those things are ACTUALLY what's on the table since I'm 1) looking for opportunity 2) putting myself in a position to better myself and 3) not stupid.

My inner 12 year old is screaming at the top of her lungs, in full tantrum mode. She's red faced and blotchy and BEGGING me to go back to craigslist and apply for more secretary jobs. But I hate those jobs. *snivel* "but it's your comfort zooooone" she says. And I know it's illogical, and I know it's absurd, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to just blow the whole damned thing off.

GARGH! I'm ashamed to even admit that. And yet - there it is... gluing my ass to this chair and making me feel all spun up and sweaty and just mostly "spooked bunnyrabbit" all over.

I'd shout if it would help, I'd cry, I'd kick and scream but that's what she's doing. And frankly that doesn't help. Ever. Nope. Nothing to it but to pour myself into some dumb-ass, ill-fitting business caszj, find some heels and drive downtown to get another hard sell put on me.

I'm going to come home dizzy and excited, and proud as hell - and eight-thousand times more terrified. Like sitting on the edge of Preikestolen. (google that. I'll wait.)

I'm on the edge kids... and there's nothing to it but to jump. And jump. And jump. Every damned day feels like a jump now. It's exhausting.

Wish me luck! (I promise to not cry while driving.)

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