Dark Secrets and Forbidden Words.

Okay, so there have been a lot of troubling developments over the past week but I would like to write about the most distressing one. Writing about my fears is the last (many times the only) trick in my survivors' handbook.

In classes, and on the bus-stop, in a corporate presentation or right after, while running on the track (okay, running to school) or gulping my food - basically practically everywhere I go or everything that I do - I have started to feel the presence of a snoopy something right behind.

Something's been stalking me and the faster I run, the swifter it gets. No really, it does, I've tried.

Wherever I go, it follows. Except that its not the cute hutch doggie but a huge, scary bull-dog that's designed to scare the living daylights out of me. It doesn't bother anyone else you see, it's a nice well-behaved dog for the other pedestrians, the ones they pet and smile at, the one they wish they had.

But inside its screaming, barking, and cursing - spewing nastiness right into mind. It blocks my thoughts, and cuts my veins, it numbs my moves and freezes reflex. My hands start to tremble, my mind starts to wander, my heart is pounding, I struggle to mutter. Thick beads of sweat start surfacing on my forehead (they've been conniving with the bull dog) and they start converging along temples form thicker, more prominent signals of my weakness. I start to stutter and try to recollect my name.
"Who am I, what is all this even about, urgh", I think. A third voice in my mind now takes charge, "This is NOT the time for philosophy, idiot", it starts another bloodcurdling scream. As three conflicting, angry, and obviously fuming voices fight for airspace, the confusion inside my head starts to surface in wrinkles now. The sweat finds more challenging trajectory to start sloping downwards. Aha, and now its starting to smell as well. Incredible, what can get worse. I bring sweaty palms forward to shake hands and hope they're not leaving an impression (literally).
Hope, that's what keeps me alive as the screaming gets louder, the sweat gets dirtier and my trembling hands now graduate to shaky legs. Isn't the room too stuffy, or are the windows closed. There isn't enough oxygen here, I try to stop the screaming as my wobbly legs turn rubber and my mind start to phase out. I am falling or fainting or losing consciousness or I think.

I pass out. The dog's tail is wagging, right behind me.

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Uncomfortable.
That's the one word that describes networking. I simply do not know how this works, despite numerous sessions, 'practical' advice, a long list to-dos, do-not's and keep-in-mind's. This does not come naturally to me and I am tethering on balancing rope hoping that I am doing the right thing. Hoping that they don't hate me. Hoping that I'm not cutting the chances of landing a job of the very limited options that I have here. Okay, I'm just a little anxious. But I still hate networking. Shh, don't say that loud. The snoopy something follows if you call out.

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PS. For the uninitiated, networking is a socio-academic activity which involves casual conversation with prospective employers. B-school grads ask relevant questions, create an impact, to try and land an interview call. The fear of messing up is so high that it makes the whole activity something of a nightmare. Fingers crossed. And that's really not the point, I think. I'd just like to know people for fun. But anyway, what I think doesn't matter and fun is definitely not on the agenda.