Every time I want something, something I cannot readily reach in my resources to get, something that my getting depends on someone else’s feelings or emotions or mood or choice, I have these mini panic attacks in phases.
I. Hate. It.
Say for example, I wanted to get an A in a particular course (for some highly unnecessary reason in retrospect, and this was always the case when I was in school), I’d calculate how many marks I needed to hit the grade, then I’d look at the questions and choose the ones I knew I could attempt exceptionally well and then I’d give it my best shot.
But, as with everything else in life, my best shot being a best shot is still dependent on someone’s state of existence. If he just had the perfect date with his girlfriend, all the letters in my paper would be singing a melodious song to his ears; I get that damned A!
However, if it was a bad date or an itch he can’t reach to scratch, or even worse, his lunch was not palatable; the plausibility of getting that A starts to shake like this. Like that.
So then – amongst many other things that I pray for – I’d need to pray that my script gets into the marker’s hands when he’s in high spirits and of cheerful character. I have to go further and pray for every one he comes in contact with, that they make him extra happy.
I. Do. Not. Like. This.
It was a lot easier to deal with these panic attacks and disappointment as a student, as a mini-adult, trying damn hard to be a real adult, it’s different. It’s hard. It shakes the foundations of all the good things your parents told you growing up!
“You’re smart. You’re bright. Everyone who comes in contact with you would want you! You write so well. Your dreams are big, they’ll take you places…”
– Yes mom, so why didn’t I get a chance?! –
After a few rejections, my mind – of its own accord – started to build easier ways to deal with it.
I. Hate. It.
First, I take a chance. While I’m at it, I’m like; no harm in trying. I get called or not, it’s not a big deal. It could work out, you never know till you try. Tra la la. *lowkey noting the day to expect a response*
*One week to the day to get a response*
Don’t think about it, you’ll get called, you’ll get in. Remember, you’re smart, you talk intelligently, you write well! What’s not to love? You’ll get it. Stay positive. Trust God. If you don’t get in, no biggie, God has better plans! But, but, God, I’d like to get it…get called…
*Three days to the day to get a response *
God see, I know I’ve been forming low key, but you know I need to get this. It’s in sync with my aspirations. It’s a chance to do this and that. I promise I’d use it to help other people. I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. Oh please let it be your will too. Hay God, I really want this *mini weeping*.
*One day to the day to get a response*
My stomach is on auto pilot. It’s rumbling a lot and I’m not even sure why. Suddenly, I’m farting a lot – airy odorless farts. I say I ate something. I know it’s anxiety
*Hours to the response*
God if you’ll give it to me, it’s mine, if you won’t, I know it’s not your will. I’ll understand. *weeps a little more than expected*
*Response time comes, passes, I don’t get an acceptance email or a courtesy sorry email! They just leave me hanging like this. Like that!*
I. Just. Can’t.
I’ve started farting.