My Mumbling Thoughts

Yeah, leave it to me to have a big ol' weep-a-thon only a week after I returned. I told y'all I would cry didn't I? Didn't I say that?!

Yes, I believe that I did. And you know what? I was right. I was SO RIGHT. I had a surprising Cry Fest last night, and what's scary is that I think there might still be some left inside of me! I feel like I could cry again today, and I hate this! Ugh, I hate to be all female and hormone-y and agitated and irritated and tired and frustrated and annoyed with EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING. I've just been wandering around the flat glaring at all of the babies like, "Yeah, that's fine! Just go out and drink, and party and have fun WITHOUT ME. IT WON'T BE ANYWHERE NEAR AS FUN BECAUSE I'M NOT THERE WITH YOU!!!"

Seriously, what's my issue? It's not their fault that I'm being a crazy nut-job right now.

So I keep myself in my room where I can sulk and feel sorry for myself alone listening to the weird humming noise from an unknown source coming from my bathroom. Unfortunately I do have to leave when I want to eat, and then I just go in the kitchen, moan about my work, be a HUGE Debbie Downer and make everyone feel uncomfortable. How awesome am I? I know. The greatest flat rep EVER.

Oh, but it was good to get some of it out last night when I was talking to Momma and Mel on Skype. I could just moan to them for ages and be a big cry baby about all of the work that I have to do, the fact that I'm unemployed, I have no money, life is hard, I have the flu, it's cold outside, the grass is green, the sky is blue, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. And bless them, they did a damn fine job to try and pick me up off the ground, dust me off and give me a big electronic hug over the Atlantic. It just gets to me, though, and yes, the fact that I have to sleep like Dracula every night hot-boxed under the covers with Vicks just so I can breathe out of both nostrils, does get under my skin.

It's just being back at uni, though, and this ridiculous mountain of work that I have to do by March 31st. I have to hand it ALL IN at 6pm on that day, and quite frankly, it's a bit daunting. Perhaps my three years at university hasn't prepared me well enough for this task, but I'm telling ya folks, I'm scared shitless. And I don't get scared easily when it comes to my work. If anything, I put it off until the last minute, then remember it's due in two days, shovel something together and miraculously manage to get respectable passing grades. THAT is what I'm used to. I'm definitely not used to having THREE PORTFOLIOS, FIVE ESSAYS, TWO COVER LETTERS and TWO CHAPTERS OF MY NOVEL all being done and complete in only a mere 11 WEEKS.

WHAT?!

Not to mention my editing groups, the occasional group project AND a trip into Central neatly piled on top of the rest. I mean, I think anyone might have a cow over that amount of work. And it has to be done well. Really well. Because in my Business of Writing lecture? Part of our portfolio is that we have to send in our own work to REAL AGENTS AND PUBLISHERS. Real people! Like, people with skin who will read our work, judge it harshly, make us (i.e. me) cry and tell us not to quit our day jobs because our writing SUCKS.

I can't handle that y'all. I thought I could, but really....I can't. Someone telling me that my work is bad, I'm a bad writer, I'm washed up, used, rubbish, crap, no good, a wannabe or that I should go back to the kiddy section would cripple me. CRIPPLE ME. I don't know if I could recover from that.

I've been writing since the second grade. Ever since I was little this is all that I've wanted to do. And now, NOW I'm coming to an end of my university life and I can already feel the realness starting to hit me, I can feel the heavy weight being piled on my chest and I'm scared. I am actually frightened to death.

I realize that my work isn't perfect. I do know how to accept constructive criticism. I also know that I will more than likely be rejected by fifty publishers before someone can even be bothered to look at my work. But that doesn't mean that I like it. While part of me does understand what's expected of me, the other half is frozen in fear and all I can picture is me sitting completely naked in a room full of people that are pointing out all of my flaws.

"Look at her stretch marks!"

"Did you see the fat creases?"

"I was too distracted by her blotchy skin.

Well, that blotchy skin isn't the thickest in the world, and I guess I'm still in the process of being comfortable with myself and with my writing. I know our lecturers are always telling us to tell the voice of The Judge to piss off and leave us alone, but sometimes when you're not feeling your greatest (like when you're under the covers huffing Vicks in the middle of the night), that voice overpowers everything else in your head, leaving you in a pile of tears, snot and low self-esteem.