I probably shouldn’t be writing this. I should be meditating or something. I should be taking a bath reading my lines. I should be sleeping, but sleep is for people who don’t have anxiety disorders and stress induced IBS. Instead I just chugged a 5hr energy and plan on spending the next hour crying in the shower, which happens to be directly over my in-law’s bed. Hopefully the sobs wont wake them up and send them reeling upstairs to make sure Shelby isn’t dead.
Today I perform. I scream Shakespearian lines from the top of my lungs on top of a chair dressed as the Little Mermaid, to a class of super critical assholes whilst trying desperately not to shit my pants.
Listen. I get it. It’s my last semester of college, and my last opportunity to go out with a “bang”, but said “bang” should not be the sound of my head hitting the floor because I pass out from anxiety while trying to remember my lines and simultaneously holding down the vomit I imagine coming out Exorcist style onto my group members face.
There is only so much more my fragile little intestines can take. Wearing a mask that looks like that disgusting squid face from Pirates of the Caribbean might just be the straw that breaks this camels asshole. Literally.
I have spent the last… ahem.. too many.. years in college. If I don’t pass this class, I don’t graduate. So basically, my entire life, my fathers last wish for me, all goes down the crapper if I can’t manage to blurt these lines out in a semi-comprehensible manner.
I hope that tomorrow I can update this blog with a funny little “I can’t believe I was so worried”, “Haha, let’s all just laugh about this” kind of thing. But I’ve got a sinking feeling in my gut that tells me It will probably sound more like, “SDSU girls heart stops mid Shakespearean ramble after ripping of all clothes, jumping in koi pond and scaring young children”.
I have no crutch. Xanax makes me foggy brained and I would forget my lines (although I probably wouldn’t care for about 4 hours) and I can’t get drunk before class because A) that is highly unethical and B) I tend to communicate in only Sign Language when I drink. So I’m SOL over here, guys.
Sometimes awesome things happen to me. Like finding that lone cigarette under my car seat, sleeping through earthquakes (because, HELLO 2012, I’m not ready to die yet) and getting my contact in on the first try. But let’s face it, other than that, I’m a karmic wasteland. Things are not looking up for me today.
I would love nothing more than to walk out of this class today with my underwear unscathed and my dignity intact, having finished this play with pride and a standing ovation. But, honestly, I’d settle for just being able to keep all my bodily fluids in my body, without running out crying and PTSD flashback free. For now, I’m going to just go have a cry-a-thon, get it all out.
I’ll leave you with this. I know it’s not 2008 and Dane Cook isn’t as cool as he used to be, but I’m leaving you with this, so watch it. Because if this blog didn’t make you laugh, or made you feel sorry for how pathetic I am right now, or made you feel annoyed at my self-centered whining, hopefully this will make you giggle.
Today, I’m going to do my best. And then, I’m going to cry in my car.