Boosters

I suppose life hands us what it will. Unfortunately, I feel as though I'm being forced against my will to exude the utmost amount of confidence right now that I've ever had to display. It's nothing I wish to discuss in this forum, or even with a friend or anything. In fact, I don't suppose I understand why I'm posting about it at all, other than for later in time so that I may reflect on how one can maintain composure in a time of need, especially when that one's pocket of self-confidence is so small it barely holds a dime. I'm afraid I might crack, though. I fear a meltdown, an absolute mental fraying where I can't even recognize myself. Oh, I hope this doesn't happen.*Tonight I left work by 5, as I usually try to do. I like my routine of beating Craig home by about half an hour to an hour so that I can work out (a little! I'm still not into it that much yet) and cool off from work stress and get the kitchen dinner-ready to make dinner. Of course tonight, after a day of feeling overwhelmed and insecure, I got stuck on a delayed 7 train in Queens at 69th Street. That is one stop beyond 74th Street, where I now and then transfer to the E or F to get to Manhattan faster. Therefore, the train I was on was stuck, and I had to get off, cross the platform underneath, and take the Main Street (Queens)-bound 7 back to 74th Street to get to my E. The whole while, I was feeling destitute and miserable, while trying to read a new co-worker's short story (he's a kid I've known for a while - his dad is my boss and we share the love of writing) and trying to block out the painfully off-key sounds of a woman singing her heart out to Jesus (literally, praising Jesus in song). She wandered the train (this is while I was stuck on the 7 and unsure that I'd have to transfer) and plopped down two seats away from me and interrupted her song to ask me, "Are you a teacher?" "No," I replied coolly, continuing to try to read. "Oh. Well I thought you were grading a paper. What are you reading?" This prompted me to say curtly, "Something a friend wrote." She got the picture fairly quickly and broke back into praises to Jesus. I decided at this time to jump off the train, at the recommendation of the conductor's announcement overhead, and head across the platform. The girl did the same thing, and waited for the same 7 as me, continuing to sing, and then she transferred at 74th Street along with me, still singing to the heavens. So at this point, in my less-than-positive state of mind, I'm wondering, Is this happening to me for some subterranean religious reason of which I'm unaware? Of course, I dismissed the whole thing more than anything.*But now I am wondering if things don't unfold just as they're meant to, and maybe just maybe there is some entity who has been with me on this life journey and who is tired of my unwarranted and always unprecedented self-esteem problems, and maybe that entity dropped this new card into my playing deck to get me to stop acting like an idiot. I must admit, however taxing these past several days (or rather, couple of weeks) have been on me, I've held up well enough. And I hope to continue along the same route, believing in myself as a smart, healthy, right and strong person, and forgetting the fact that ghosts of insecurity hover above me so often, more often than not.*This all falls right around the time I am about to work with Sharon, my beloved writing instructor of last semester, one-on-one: meeting for 2 hours a week for 8 weeks, poring over my work only, tearing it apart to find slivers of story parts, drafting and re-drafting and attempting to turn approximately 3 pieces into something to submit at the end of our time together. Sharon is no fool to writing, and particularly to editing; she makes no bones about too many metaphors, too clogged up of sentences, too many adverbs. She just reads like a genius. I'm lucky, and lucky does not fulfill it, I'm lucky (plus whatever fulfills it) to work with her. She will be such a great coach. But again, my form of insecurity weighs heavy here. And I have no one to turn to for deliverance from it. It just is what it is.*Above shown is the wheat pasta I boiled for our lunches tomorrow. We wound up at Nina's tonight, and since Nina's was out of not only my favorite wine but also my favorite steak!, we wound up with a bottle of more expensive Malbec and I wound up with Chicken Francesca. Good stuff, but battered somehow, so tomorrow's wheat pasta lunch will have to be portioned correctly. No cheating on what a "cup" and a "1/2 cup" serving looks like to the naked eye.