A little afraid...

Everyone who knows me well knows I have one favorite emotion-- guilt-- and one favorite mode of being-- anxious. These two things, mixed and shaken-not-stirred, make a lethal cocktail. One that can keep me thinking, feeling, analyzing, articulating, evaluating, re-thinking, re-feeling, overanalyzing, re-stating, and re-evaluating for days on end.

At the moment, I am preparing myself mentally for my poetry reading tomorrow... and while it's well known that I am vain (I've obsessed over what to wear for like 1000 days) and that I am a bit of a show-pony, there's still that nervous little sparrow with low self-esteem at the center of me, cruelly chirping, "They're all gonna laugh at you! They're all gonna laugh at you!", "Your poems are pap and crap!", and worst of all, "Who's going to care?"

I got a flyer in my English Department mailbox today advertising my reading. I printed it off and plan to frame it the way rock stars do their gold records. I'll offer to sign copies of it afterward.

Tomorrow in the audience: many friends, colleagues, Bacon Bringer, my mom. So, I'll be surrounded by people who like me/love me (at least most of the time, anyway). What is there to worry about? I'll be delivering these poems to a largely supportive community of readers and writers (and loyal fans). I can worry about anything and everything. I could probably will myself into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, as well.

I guess I also have to will myself to believe that my voice counts, that my experience is valid, and no less human than anyone else's. On a good day, I am very proud of the poems I'm reading tomorrow-- and am thankful for the experiences that opened me to writing them, and I have complete faith in releasing them to the world at large. Let's hope tomorrow is a good day, and that my hair looks great.