Its not stress, well it is, but stress I can handle. Stress and I get along quite well. I actually think I work best under pressure. So the thing eating away at me, it isn't stress. It's fear. Fear of failure...


This is one of those few times I wish you were still here. You were better than most at handling my bitchy moods. You knew exactly when to talk and you knew enough to talk about nothing. You'd just talk, just fill the air with words, no real meaning, and nothing I really needed to pay attention, just noise, happy noise. And, more importantly, you knew when to be quiet. You never left me alone; you just sat quietly. Not an awkward silence, not impatience or waiting, just a comfortable quiet. You said nothing because there was nothing to be said. Just left me alone without leaving. I could use some of your aimless chatter and some of your friendly silence, this is one of those few times I wish you were still here.


It's fear, and as of Friday it'll probably be shame.