Pecan Pie

Social Anxiety from the South

Crushed.

I don’t know why they don’t want me.

I valiantly attempted to inform my loved ones without blubbering like a big baby.

I succeeded at that.

I attempted to drown my sorrows like any respectable academic would do, with jäger and PBR.

Not sure how successful that was.

Because post booze anxiety.

I can write to see what I’m missing, what makes me less than ideal.

I really suck at this woe is me low self esteem crap.

I’m Amazing. I’m damned good at what I do.

Jim says it’s because they don’t know me.

When I was in high school, my senior year I wanted so badly to sing this really popular country song at our last concert. I knew the new freshman girl who was everyone’s Ooh SHINY at the moment was my biggest competition.

I’d been busting my ass getting ready to audition at Shorter and Berkelee, perfecting my small classical repertoire.

“You just sound too perfect for this song.”

I’d learned music academically; a theoretical understanding was a requirement when my mother first signed me up for piano lessons.

And while I came into high school with a Tammy Wynette twang, I’d learned to eliminate it. I didn’t know I could bring her out for the appropriate purpose.

I thought I had to kill her to reach my goals.

When I write for myself, it’s raw, it’s vulgar, it’s decidedly unacademic.

I heard on NPR this morning a remark about Pope Benedict,

“He’s one of the most learned men in the world, but maybe he lacks the dynamism to get [our] message out.”

No one would ever say I lack dynamism.

You better believe next time my message will get out.

Written by thelittlepecan

March 12, 2013 at 10:32 am

Posted in education

Tagged with ,

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