test anxiety stream of consciousness

Hwarkk!  Ack!  Kwwickuw!  Ptooie!


Drip drip drip... Hwsuuuckkca!  Drip drip drip... Hwsuuuckkca! 

Whine whine cry dribble sleep cry whine whine.

These are the lovely sounds of my little family being completely disgusting with their summer colds.  I love them, but if I didn't, I would cross the street to avoid them and their rampant pestilence.  Other than sleep walking around with a feeling of having my bone marrow replaced with lead, I've thus far managed to avoid getting the chills, fever, mucus rivers, sinus congestion, whiny.

Okay, maybe I got a bit of the whiny.

I am doing my best with the vitamin C and Wally's 'It isn't repulsive' Hut (red wine is very good for you, don't you know?), and have even contemplated taking an iron pill or two (a reflexive reaction to exhaustion after birth and nursing a couple of babies).  Generally I don't like getting sick, and this week the stakes are even higher: this Thursday is my basic skills test.  

I hate tests.  Really.  I get anxiety.  No: Anxiety.  I don't think well under pressure and, even when writing exams in university which I was actually pretty good at, my body feels like it's under the control of a drunken speedwalker.  I'm likely to suddenly careen full speed into a wall or propel myself down the stairs, missing every step but the last one, which I hit with my butt. 

I feel so sick just thinking about it that I just spilt my wine on my laptop.  I hope the antioxidants in red wine means it won't fry my circuits.

Or maybe that's the problem in the first place?

Whatever.  Where was I?  Oh, yes, tummy churning, palm sweating, teeth aching test anxiety.  It really does not make me feel any better to know that I will be on wheels too.  What the fuck am I thinking?

Actually, I have actually taken the WFTDA assessments before, but I sucked enough to know that I had no actual chance of passing.  This was back in May, only a few practices into my time with OCDG, and taking the test was more like being a tourist than a contender.  I was thinking, 'Oh, how interesting, I'm going to get hit now by that All Star rollergirl - okay!  Ouf, that hurt!  Hey, I'm still standing!  Go Me!  I wondering if I'm supposed to do something else?'

Yes, by the way, I was supposed to do something else: HIT HER BACK!

I hope I at least can figure out what I'm supposed to do this time.  No, wait, this time I want to make this test my bitch.  But I will settle, at this point, to just not being horking up phlegm.

The worst part is, I may stand a chance of passing.  And then what?  I will play roller derby?  For real?  With the big girls?   

Oi.  

I think this is a bad idea in many different ways.

 I have just started Melissa 'Melicious' Joulwan's book Rollergirl: Totally True Tales from the Track and she's just walking through her first experience with watching derby.  Hopefully she'll also give me a play by play of the learning and breaking her derby cherry.  I could use a success story or two right now.  Or maybe I can start working my way through the Rocky movies, to psyche myself up.  I figure anxiety and fear is a head trip, then the medicine must be something I put into my head also.

Anyone know of any roller derby affirmation tapes I could play as I sleep?

"You are a strong, relentless bitch.  You hit like a freight train.  Your crossovers are immaculate.  You are not getting a sinus cold."

This all makes me wonder why I bother to protect my brain with a helmet.  


Off to take my medicine.  *gulg, gulg*  Here's to vitamin C, good sleeps, and the ability to channel my anxiety into aggression.


I love this derby thing.