Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Some day I will invent a lock for my mouth and utilize it whenever I'm in a situation where people don't know me well.

Today I made the mistake of talking with the head of the Storytellers group after church.  I should have stayed away until the writing was judged on its own merit.  She is a sweet, sweet person, but I don't know that she has ever been up against the likes of me in full anxiety mode.  I felt sorry for her, poor thing.  She had that deer-in-the-headlights look before I left her, and rightly so.

It was one of those out-of-body experiences where your mouth keeps on running and your mind is yelling "Stop! STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, STOP!!!!"

But your mouth just keeps rollin' on.

Before I knew what was happening I had confessed my deepest fears and loathsome lack of self-worth to her, stopping blessedly short of asking her to please, please LIKE me.  Oh, and like my writing, too.  Thankfully, I spotted Hubster and took my mouth away from the situation before it could ask her if the jeans I was wearing made me look fat or if I really did look like I was 55 years old.


Of course, she probably now thinks I'm really like that all the time.  She has no idea of the somewhat sane individual that resides in my body under normal circumstances, the one that isn't stressed out over the writing audition process.  And I have no way of assuring her that once I settle down and get into the groove of things I will be less of a mental basket case.  It's something she'll just have to experience.

Love me, love my crazy.  That's how I roll.