nervous.....

I am. I've got the jitters, the headache and the nausea, yup the works since yesterday. The truth is for all my self-confirmation as a woman of substance (hahah) and aplomb which is whipped up in my alter ego, the one that writes daringly and openly, I am but a puny at heart. Ahhhhhhhh I let it go! yes, I am scared as the next person or may be more, and have absolutely zero confidence in my own abilities. HMMMMMMMMMMM

Abilities - means able to do something, being good at a skill, I believe I'm good at nothing what so ever and here I am not trying to be self effacing or humble I am stating a plain and simple fact. I have no capabilities other than being sarcastic half the time and reading the other half, I am not good at making something as in being creative and productive, in commercial terms - I have no value adding component in me, hence no market value and this is where I come to the reason on why I'm all edgy tonight.

I have to sell myself tomorrow, convince some man (whom I despise already, sitting in some obscure office all smug and pleased with himself) of what I am able to do and how their company will benefit if they hire my services! (This hypocrisy is beyond me.) How am I to influence him when I certainly believe the opposite! how should I conjure up this image of myself (fallacious of course) which is manna from heaven! I feel like going in there and baring the truth saying you'd be stupid if you hire me because I can't think straight for 5 continuous minutes and have nothing to give and contribute!

But, lie I must, and lie with all the sweetness and loquacity that I can muster up at 10 in the morning. The image of the office keeps haunting me, boring cubicles with gray and misty smoke filled air, same paunchy men, bending over endless cups of milky tea discussing the latest bomb blast in the country. In every office I have been to in Pakistan, there is an unmistakable stench of lost time and wasted lives, boredom and inefficiency, of sweat and cheap cologne. And then there are the rooms of the higher ups, ufff, the serious aura that surrounds them, the solidity of the room and the furniture, the impersonality of all there is so much so that the person sitting behind the desk becomes a part of the solid furniture or seems so to me.

How, I wonder, if they are silly enough to offer me a job am I going to contend with that eventuality? Am I the person that can again haul up all the courage that I have, stuff the nausea and the irony and the cynicism in a box sit on it and lock it and put it under the bed, and get up every morning to lug myself to work! Can I do it?

I want to throw up!