Beware the bad baseball analogy!!

I don't think of myself as someone who gives up easily. I do give in. But I have given up lately. I wade through school like some sort of zombie, counting the minutes till I can go home. I sit at home and count the minutes till I go to school. I've given up on my appearance. It doesn't seem to matter anymore. I gave up on makeup and cool clothes and doing anything with my hair and caring about my fingernails. I don't even bother to wear a bra anymore. I don't need it anyway. And the funny thing is, no one seems no notice. Or care. And that's just fine with me. I want to fade out most of the time.

I showed my first film project in class today. I was nervous, but I didn't really think anyone would like it. And I didn't care if they liked it. Well, maybe I did a little. But they seemed to like it. It's hard to tell since people are so reluctant to tell you what they really think about anything anymore. But they were pretty nice about it. I get the feeling that none of them expected my work to be any good. Especially my professor. He kind of looks at me with these raised eyebrows and says, "Well, any comments from anyone?" They all seem mystified when my work doesn't suck like they thought it would. Or when it's actually better than theirs. Perhaps the lesson is, never underestimate the power of humility. I have never claimed to know anything about filmmaking. Not once. And apparently everyone assumed that means I don't know anything about creativity and imagination either. Whoops. One person complimented my impeccable sense of timing, which was completely unxepected. I never even gave that any thought. It's nice to be commended for something that just kind of happened.

So now that's overwith and I can fade back into the ghosthood I was getting so used to. I like it there. No one bothers with you and you can be that proverbial fly on the wall. Then when you step up to the plate and actually hit a home run (or more likely, a single, but at least I'm on base), everyone stops and gasps for a minute. Then they clap and look at their programs to figure out who the hell that was. I may get to home plate, or I may get tagged out, but rest assured that I am forgotten by the time I get back to the dugout. Which is just fine with me.