When I really, really like someone, or when I’m on a job interview, I try to put my best foot forward to make a good impression. Everyone does that, I’m sure. The thing is, when I feel like I’m making this extra effort to be accepted, deep down I feel like a fraud since it’s more effort than I’d usually make. And then I start to wonder if my fraudulence is visible. And then I get nervous. And then I invariably say something stupid or desperate or pathetic. And then I blow it.
At the moment those situations are even more full of tension, because if I don’t get a decent job soon, I may wind up out on the streets. And the fatter and older I get, the narrower my window of opportunity becomes to ever share a bed again with someone other than my dogs. So there’s a lot at stake in both scenarios. And that makes me blow it even more phenomenally.
It’s like I’m on this downward plunge toward blowits-ville. The plane is hurtling toward the earth, and I keep thinking, “Pull up! Pull up!” and my knuckles are white on the controls and yet I don’t see any change in trajectory. At first this trend was mildly amusing. I thought it was a phase. The pendulum always swings back the other direction, doesn’t it? But the earth is getting so close that I can barely see the sky anymore, and it’s scaring the shit out of me.
Today I looked heavenward and said, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Just tell me. Because I have run out of ideas.” Unfortunately, there have been no voices from a burning bush, no bolts from the blue, no Publisher’s Clearinghouse van full of balloons and a big fat check.
Putting my best foot forward only seems to keep me off balance. I think I need ice cream. Yeah, that’s it.
[Image credit: doomandbloom.net]
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