Chronic glossophobia.

Today I spoke up in class. A rare occasion in the entire span of my educational upbringing.

In a philosophy class, nonetheless. I raised my hand to object because my professor and classmates were going in a direction I didn't like. Everything was silent, and the answer was burning in me...like, how does nobody know this? I gave my piece on the first two chapters of Genesis, about how I believe that there were different authors, as evidenced by the distinct literary styles blah blah scriptural authority blah blah blah it just doesn't make sense any other way blah blah--I just kept going. I even talked over a girl who interrupted me. It was logorrhea at it's best, I don't know what came over me. I felt empowered, in a sense. I argued with researchers, I brought a new idea to the table...and it was considered...and correct. The words just came out, and I was applauded by a genius philosopher. What?

I feel like this blog looks like a pitiful diary entry the shy girl makes when her secret crush asks her for a pencil in math class. It's a small victory, but hey, I'm on my way. Yes, I'm on my way to public speaking for mass audiences.

Wait. Maybe not. Definitely not. My health insurance doesn't cover that kind of therapy.

To quote the marvelous Jean Webster, of Daddy-Long-Legs, Did you ever know such a philosopheress as I am developing into?

1 comment:

Danny Zamarripa said...

Go you. Go you.

And shy girl posts about crush encounters are everybody's favorite anyways.