Talk day

today. is. utterly. boring.
and draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaging.
And completely dull other than the fact that I have to get up in front of some younger peeps and their parents and a tv camera and try not to stumble on the word “exhibition” after the word “arts” and “Carmody” which is the girl’s name, which feels like it’s missing a consonant and I wish I could know what the place looked like, how the podium is going to sit, if there’s even a podium, if it will be hot or cold, if there are stairs, if the theater is big or small, if the air smells like old felt. I wish I could know all of these things to prepare myself for things unseen, for snags in the carpet and creaks in the chairs. But of course there’s only so much you can prepare for.
I’m mostly calm. mostly. Until I think about how I will turn red the moment I stand up and the actual opening of my mouth to say something, how I think my voice will surprise me as if often does when I’m speaking for a purpose and not just in conversation. When I think about that it shoots a firework in my gut that explodes and slowly fizzles away as I smooth out the anxiety with positive thinking:

you are much older than these children (which gives you a little confidence), you are much younger than these parents (which gives you a little confidence) and you’re wearing your Memory of Feathers Dress from Anthropologie which gives you lots of confidence because it’s lovely and fits like pretty, colorful skin and the skirt is poofy and gives me hips and all I hope is that I don’t look too pale, which I will, but that I don’t look red-eye pale. This is more of a boost post for me than it’s really saying anything, but I guess this month I’m proud for trying to be a little more fearless even if it’s only public access TV and the camera will be wobbly and the lighting bad. I’m going to stop now. Just look at the dress.