The first supposedly random selection? Risk Everything.
I wrote a couple of days ago about planning for Tammy Faye as my Halloween extravaganza. I did a little research, I bought a ridiculous outfit, I joked with friends about appropriate makeup and which accent I should use, whether she would have been God-y in her lost years (of course!) etc.
When it came to Actually Having My Huge Moment In The Spotlight Where Everyone Would Be Watching, I... couldn't. I ended up cowardly-y sending my friend a text on the way home to let him know that I probably wasn't going to make it. He responded with lots of no way! exclamation marks and things, to which I replied I can't possibly. Then he said :(.
Back in the city, Aaron and I stumbled off the (late) shuttle bus into the kiddy-related bustle of 24th and Mission. I couldn't help but smile at the spidermans and princesses after spending the commute listening to my inner chicken demons squabbling with each other. Many bullshit risk-averse excuses came to mind: the costume is stupid, I don't have any shoes, I'll look like a drag queen [Of course you will, you dickhead! It's Tammy Fucking Faye!], I'm tired, it's cold, etc. Each colluding with the next to fuel that little spark of no thank you.
Turns out I went to the Latin instead for a cheeky beer and then to a nice meal at Garçon with friends, amused and impressed all the while by the billions of passers-by in an impressive array of outfits. Still in the back of my mind was what might have been.
When I'm in a certain mood, the litany of I-couldn't-possiblys is, well... a litany. That frustrating, self-fulfilling quicksand of doubt. You see, I have two quite separate views of myself that sometimes seem entirely disconnected. One is happy, challenged and busy. The other is bored, insular and restrained. When one is faced with costume and the other comfort, before I know it I'm 70 years old, wearing some horrific tracksuit, sitting on a couch that has my bum print in it. Likely eating some sort of "chunky" tinned soup as well.
Not that I'm bipolar or anything.
I wrote a couple of days ago about planning for Tammy Faye as my Halloween extravaganza. I did a little research, I bought a ridiculous outfit, I joked with friends about appropriate makeup and which accent I should use, whether she would have been God-y in her lost years (of course!) etc.
When it came to Actually Having My Huge Moment In The Spotlight Where Everyone Would Be Watching, I... couldn't. I ended up cowardly-y sending my friend a text on the way home to let him know that I probably wasn't going to make it. He responded with lots of no way! exclamation marks and things, to which I replied I can't possibly. Then he said :(.
Back in the city, Aaron and I stumbled off the (late) shuttle bus into the kiddy-related bustle of 24th and Mission. I couldn't help but smile at the spidermans and princesses after spending the commute listening to my inner chicken demons squabbling with each other. Many bullshit risk-averse excuses came to mind: the costume is stupid, I don't have any shoes, I'll look like a drag queen [Of course you will, you dickhead! It's Tammy Fucking Faye!], I'm tired, it's cold, etc. Each colluding with the next to fuel that little spark of no thank you.
Turns out I went to the Latin instead for a cheeky beer and then to a nice meal at Garçon with friends, amused and impressed all the while by the billions of passers-by in an impressive array of outfits. Still in the back of my mind was what might have been.
When I'm in a certain mood, the litany of I-couldn't-possiblys is, well... a litany. That frustrating, self-fulfilling quicksand of doubt. You see, I have two quite separate views of myself that sometimes seem entirely disconnected. One is happy, challenged and busy. The other is bored, insular and restrained. When one is faced with costume and the other comfort, before I know it I'm 70 years old, wearing some horrific tracksuit, sitting on a couch that has my bum print in it. Likely eating some sort of "chunky" tinned soup as well.
Not that I'm bipolar or anything.