The Art of BS

My posts are beginning to become more and more profane, and I really can't decide if this is a bad thing or not. Anyway. Sorry I haven't been blogging in a while! I guess my life's just been too boring to even talk about... I might cry.

First of all, I'd like to give a huge shout-out to those who performed at my school's Cabaret Night last weekend. I say this incredibly awkwardly since I also performed on Saturday, but sure I'll give myself a shout-out I guess. For trying.

So on Friday, I had to sing for my church at the Stations of the Cross. It was a small event, and I don't get really get nervous about singing with my mom in the audience since she hears me banging on the piano every single day. Nevertheless, about five minutes before I had to get up and sing "O Sacred Head Surrounded," my heart just plummeted. I don't think I would feel like that if someone punched me in the stomach and whacked that place right under the knees where the doctors hit to test your reflexes (In case you were wondering it's called a saphenous nerve. Oh, only I was wondering? Well, fine.) Now there are two kinds of butterflies that can inhabit your stomach: the nice kind of butterflies that you get when you see someone you really like (d'aww) or the nasty, carnivorous, evil, and viscous kind that you get if you get extreme stage fright. I have extreme stage fright. If I didn't, I'd be bothering you with a vlog instead, making awkward faces and stuttering a lot.

While I was singing for the Stations of the Cross, I realized toward the very end that I had completely forgotten the words of the last line. So guess what I did? Well of course I made it up! When I looked back at the line, I was almost impressed myself- the line had made sense in the context of the song. Yay me. I can successfully and quickly BS things on a second's notice. Be proud. Anyway, nobody noticed, which is why I say I was successful, and thought for a moment that my stress was out of the way.

The next day, I realized I was not at all prepared for Cabaret Night. My butterflies had evolved into writhing, hairy monsters (do you like the imagery?), and it took me three times to try and get a full run-through of "Learn to be Lonely" to not end up with my palms on the piano in exasperation. Angst angst angst. When I finally arrived at sound check, I realized I had forgotten my music, and that I couldn't go back home since my parents were out of town. I REALLY need to get a license. I reassured everyone that I had memorized the piece and that I would be fine, when secretly I was about to pee myself in fear. I had learned a lot about positive mental images before a race or performance, so I guess it was already a bad sign that the only image that I could conjure in my mind was one where I lay on the floor in a fetal position, crying. So much for trying to be an optimist. Luckily, I only messed up about five measures. YAY!! I just completely stopped playing, and all I can remember is my mouth open, praying to God that people can actually hear my singing, and OH THERE'S THE CHORD, DAMN IT. With a lot more cusses.

Point is, I hate stage fright. Time to go curl up into a fetal position and get some insecticide for my stomach. And when I say insecticide I mean snickerdoodles.