My New Biggest Fear

    What if I can't revise? What if I am too simple minded? No, seriously, what if I just can't?

    I just finished up my I believe essay. I typed what I thought. And I reread it and it sounded right. And, well, crap. What if it is crap? What if my thoughts are crap? My chest is tightening up, it might be a panic attack. It might not make sense to anyone but me. Like I speak my own language. As though I have been so isolated raising babies and living in southwest Missouri, I have no concept of the outside world. I know laundry, dishes, cooking and raising babies. That's it. If doubting yourself was a disease, I would be the carrier monkey.
    Honestly, what if I don't know half the stuff I think I know. Oh God forbid, I am one of those people. The people who think they know stuff, and act like they know stuff, but don't. This weeks readings included "How to Say Nothing in 500 Words," by Paul Roberts. I might have said nothing. What if I think in fluff? My sentences are padded with unintentional fluff. I just might have said nothing in a page and a half. There is an inexcusable part of me that hopes for a writing group of morons. A step above primates. A bunch of uneducated, banjo wielding hillbillies who make moonshine and build booby-traps. Come to think of it though, it take some serious smarts to make moonshine, and build booby-traps. So I need the kind of hillbillies who do nothing but shoot at squirrels. Then maybe my essay won't be swallowed up by geniuses and their writings, making my essay look like chicken scratch. Plus I like banjo music, and bluegrass.
    No such luck. I have high school AP English students, and probably future Rhodes Scholars. I should be thankful, I know. They will give me great feed back and help me improve my writing. After they all sit around with a bowl of flaxseed and organic raisins, drinking chi, reading my poor little essay and laughing. Excuse me while I go dig a hole in the dirt it wallow in and continue my pity party.