Let Me Do The Talking

It is a funny thing to be interviewed for some reason other than employment. In a variety of speech contests I have been briefly interviewed, and even that is weird. For a few moments, it's all about you. That's something that I must confess I want most of the time, , and most of the time I don't get it. For that reason, I don't have to face up to the fact that I don't know what to do with it most of the time. Then it happens.

For the few moments that I'm being interviewed, I realize that what I'm asking for I actually shrink away from. I think I handle myself well enough in those situations. They ask a few questions and I garner decent reactions with my responses, most of which are designed to fend off the question without answering it. That's my way, I suppose- to dance around the issue without hitting it head-on. I'm working on that in improv.

The Beast Within

There's a beast that lies in wait all the while that I'm out, active and with people. I strive to bury it deep inside so that they don't see, but I know it's there. It watches, listens and takes impeccable notes. It bides its time until I'm finally alone and on the down beat, and then it strikes. I do battle with it again and again, never unharmed, but always emerging with enough left to go at it another day. The beast is called introspection, and he beleaguers me relentlessly.

The better part of what comes when I encounter the beast is unsparing, brutal, desperate self-criticism. That leads not to depression, because it's not depression unless it's diagnosed by a mental health professional. I'm not seeing any of those presently. The most I would feel qualified to say is that I enter periods of brooding and melancholia at such times. Needless to say, it's not productive. Nor are my thoughts during such times terribly accurate, but the insidious beast clouds my mind and poisons my objectivity.