Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Forty-Seven
Just something I wrote last night, while I was in a slightly-depressed-mode.
.....
"4 more weeks."
I think of those seemingly harmless words, and I freeze inside. My heart almost beats faster. I smell the fear on me.
"4 more weeks."
It sounds lie a curse out of a fairytale. 'In weeks, you will prick your finger and write on papers known as EXAMS, and you shall only stop writing by a kiss from your report book."
4. More. Weeks.
I have to admit that, up until now, I have always thought of myself as a pretty brave person. I'm not afraid of cockroaches or cats or thunder or the dark (well.... not
really, now). I don't squirm when I see the insides of the people, I don't grimace when I get my injections, and I pratically
live for rollercoasters. But now? Now I know better. What I'm really afraid is a dissappointing people: especially, and more importantly, myself.
I guess I can be a smart kid if I only try hard enough, but somehow I am never able to put in enough effort. Am I lazy? Probably. Not determined? Maybe. I dunno. Maybe my mind just wanders too much. I try to study to study, but after an hour or so, I just stop focusing. I cannot focus.
See? Even now, when I would be better off studying, I'm writing and eating an apple. I need to, though. I'm feeling pretty skitty at the moment. Writing and eating an apple helps me feel slightly better, if not calmer.
You know, if this whole studying thing had been a race, then this last 4 weeks would be where the anchor runner comes in. The last run. The final stretch. It all comes down to this.
Should I try to conquer my fear to feel better? I don't think so. See, I have something like a belief when it comes to handling fear: Be afraid. Be afraid, then do whatever it is that you have to do anyway. Then you pray and hope for the best.
.....
4:36 PM
