getting caught
I’ll tell you what fear is, it’s what Hitchcock knew. I’m always skating on the thin ice, always snatching a moment at the record store here and a random troll of the Internet at work there, running to the post office at the last second, running up to and over my deadlines, that’s the kind of guy I am, relying on my tiny amount of genius and ever-dwindling stock of charm and naive cluelessness to get me by…but what if, one day, it didn’t work? What if I were called to account? What if I was discovered? What if they all found out what an IMPOSTER I really am?
I’ve had this feeling since I was little: that I’m just not what I’m cracked up to be. I am surfing on the wave of everyone else’s lofty ambitions for me, but I know they’re all stupid for believing in me, I know what happens when the wave breaks, I know how quick the sharks are to eat the swimmers.
I think I need to get back into therapy, for realz.