Ultimate

Like so man things, the ultimate was, finally, not so ultimate after all. This is always the way, though I don't seem to be able to keep myself from getting worked into a self-hating, ego-annihilating frenzy all the same. C points out, and I well know, that this is in some way strategy. I go through all the worst case scenario emotional junk well before any of it even *might* happen. In this way, it freaks me out considerably less when things happen like this:

Well, I think we should start off with M encapsulating her project for us, in just a few minutes, before we start discussing the 27 page document that accompanies it.

Normally, this would tailspin me, but because I've already in my head imagined and dealt with all the really horrible things that could be said, I muddle through. Nobody seems to have caught on just yet that I'm a terrible fraud. With any luck, they never will... So, yeah, (spitting sound) that's over. Now I can actually start writing. How sick is it that I'm actually looking forward to it?

In other news...what? I'm making cakes, and very much agonizing over it. C thinks I'm dwelling too much, and she is undoubtedly right. Right in that truly damning way. A while ago I was swamped with this sudden sense of self-loathing, so intense that I could barely speak. I feel like the protagonist from Nausea, sitting in the park watching the world dissolve around him. Not that I should be writing about vertigo right now.