I've got my first uni masterclass tomorrow and I'm terrified




imposter syndrome coming on strong

TSP 4

A bit of a breakthrough had come the February before, seemingly out of the blue. She reasoned with herself in the backseat on the truck ride home. I can open myself up to romance after I fix my fucked up brain. It wouldn’t be fair to my partner to have to deal with all of that. When I’m cured, I’ll be ready. 

But that’s not really how it worked. By that logic, she should have already pushed her family away, and what remained of her friends, to make things easier on them. She hadn’t yet, for better or worse, she wasn’t sure. And she would never really fix herself.

So by those means, her logic against romance was very, very flawed.

:::

TSP 3

People were always difficult for her. And so, with her track record in mind, it’s quite easy to see why she never went up to him, introduced herself, and asked for his name. 

Looking back, she’s not entirely sure what piqued her interest in the first place. But she ended up paying attention to him, his soccer sweater, and the fact that the soccer field was right by her parking stall. She looked, but never saw him.

He played trumpet. First period music. He was supposed to be playing guitar, but broke his hand. 

She paid attention, for reasons she never stopped to consider the gravity of. And so it didn’t take long for her to lodge him in her brain, and to give him what was supposed to be a temporary, funny, name. Trumpet Soccer Player.

It stuck.

:::

  part three. still writing. whoops.

yes I know the name is dumb. I know his name now. I'm not going to post it.

bye.