I'm bracing myself for what will either be the best or worst news of my foreseeable future, and I have no idea how to go about it. It's like a torturous itch somewhere you can't quite place, a constant wrenching of your gut, bile rising up in your throat at the very thought of the possibilities, both good and bad.
I don't want to raise my hopes too high and have them shattered for the second time, but I also cannot function with the constant twists and turns of dread paralyzing my limbs. I keep playing that half hour over and over in my head, tinted in varying degrees of compassion ranging from steeliness to sympathy.
It's moments like these all the superstition of human history washes over me and I fluctuate between fixating on the positive to influence...what, fate? and talking myself down so that if the news is bad, the fall is not so far, and if it is good, I have higher to soar. I pray to God one second and question his existence the next. I contemplate taking matters into my own hands and call myself meddlesome.
Mostly, I reach for something to hold onto, a strategy or project that I can use to pull myself out of this existential fog. At the moment, it seems like success is futile and mediocrity is all too close. I'm not content with chanting this too shall pass anymore, but I wish I could convince myself that any effort will be worth it.
Only time will tell if I will scroll quickly past these words and their pain, or if I will pause and smile with hindsight on my side.
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