Ahh! I want to scream. Not just type-scream. Shyness and insecurity teamed up to hogtie and throw me into a closet with the lights turned off. I wrestled with myself all day, as always in such situations, futilely. [Somehow I worked productively, though!] I felt rusty and nervous, a terrible cocktail of emotions that makes me crumble into pieces, and although I overcame it [sort of], I can’t help but feel ashamed at my hesitance. I have nothing to lose. Jesus! I could write that on my face, see it in the mirror every twenty minutes, and disregard it as quickly.
Over a year has passed since I’ve faced these emotions. In a masochistic way, I’m relieved to still feel them. I’d thought they were more dead than dormant within me. I didn’t care. In hindsight, it’s disconcerting to be so conscious of an inner malaise and shrug it off nonetheless. Recapturing my vigor, yearning so bad for happiness and companionship, and savoring youth are all exciting to me again. So that’s good.
Ahh! I’m 24. I shouldn’t feel boatloads of shame like this. I’ve agonized over little nothings before, and yet I’ve not learned to relax and react.
Or maybe I have. Sometimes all it takes is a walk around the block to clear my mind. [By walk, I mean long ass run.] I’m giving this another go this week. Maybe tomorrow, maybe Wednesday, but this week. And soon. While I ran, I dug around a dusty locked trunk in my mind and found an old credo hiding behind old prom photos and love notes. I think it’s very fitting. I hope to never again forget it:
Don't sweat petty things, and don't pet sweaty things.
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