NaBloPoMo Day Fourteen: The Child of Humility

There's twelve days until the show I'm opening at Kilby Court, and I can honestly say I'm about to shit a brick. I'm nervous and sweaty and I keep thinking that I'm going to forget all the lyrics to my songs and then what? Then what? What if I forget the chords, or the little riffs I've thrown in to make things interesting? Then what! I could ruin everything just with one teensy snag.

It doesn't help my nerves at all that my best friend is making up lies about me, to tell to my boyfriend, so he can corner me and then get mad when I get mad at him for putting me into a corner. I already feel like shit. I feel like all my friends are turning against me. And I know what I want, but I can't get it. I know what I want to do tomorrow, but every factor in my life won't allow it. That's the worst feeling in the world. I feel like I'm running into a brick wall, or an ignored call. I feel lied to and spit on, and shoved in the dirt.

A kind anonymous once told me that I will be okay, once everything is said and done. That's the only phrase keeping me alive right now. The only philosophy I can conquer is that the only friend I have in this world is myself. And I'm already sick of me.