DOom Do dO DOom

I have become quite familiar with the feeling of dread. It churns my stomach to a point where I am sure all intestinal function must have been ground to bits. My hands go slightly numb, but the ache in my stomach merits this as only secondary.
Job interviews, unpracticed speeches, and the first sentence of a book I may never finish, all evoke this notorious biological clause. It comes on with great intensity; I’m pushed to the brink of nausea and saved just in time by logic and optimism with no moments to spare. My very own Indiana and Jones. The battle is not over then though—dread can lay unnoticed in my psyche for days on end and then, with one single thought or worry, it blindsides me with a wrenching, paralyzing fear. Fear of failure. Cliché but true. Perhaps the curious vigor with which this feeling charges is fueled by the repression which I have consistently and contentedly lavished upon it—I do not tend to linger on negative thoughts, but they have to go somewhere.*
Lately my dread has been derived from, as mentioned previously, the Job Interview. I find a strange mix of hope and doom residing in my mind due to the anticipation of this event. Hope for what could be and doom for what inevitably will be. It is a mental tennis match, with each player slicing low shots which barely sail over the net and leave me teetering on the edge of sanity—or insanity if you please. I long for a day when fickle emotions and self esteem hiccups no longer wreak havoc on my visions for what I can accomplish and who I can become.
I wish I could end this blog with a witty ‘Game, Set, Match,’ conclusion but alas, life is not that simple.
And so I say deuce.



*In my mind I envision all these thoughts as tiny gnomes all suited up in red leather armor, pounding their long spears in rhythmic fashion, mechanically chanting some séance-esque tune—readying themselves for their next onslaught of overpowering dread. Their ranks ever increasing.