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I Wrote Something

I wrote something. I thought it was really good. “This is the best thing I have ever written,” I maniacally laughed to myself. I’ve finally leveled up!

But now I’m trying to record it, and it requires music, but the music I found on the internet isn’t quite there, and I don’t know if I can reach out to composers I know. And what if it’s not good?

Or what if it IS the best thing I have ever written, but that’s not really saying a lot? Do I tear this up and walk away?

Also a month or two ago I made a joke about having attention deficit disorder, and now a friend of mine keeps sending me useful tips about coping with attention deficit disorder. I don’t think I have ADD, but I don’t want to give the impression I was making fun of a difficult condition. I’ve just been thanking her for the resources. I thought I was making a joke, and she, and possibly many others, perceived it as a cry for help. And as I look back on my writing, I know in my heart this is not the first time that has happened: I have written something I thought was funny and innocuous, and in response, a friend reached out and told me that they were there for me.

I have another dear friend who shared that sometimes she is upset about the world, and then she, “thinks about how confident you are, and that makes me happy.” I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT MEANS. I can tell she thought it was a compliment, but that keeps me awake at night. Should I not be confident? This friend is gorgeous and funny and sincerely kind, so I know it was well intentioned, and she is genuinely happy for me, her confident friend.

In middle school, I thought I was popular. “I play the violin, and I get good grades,” so I thought it was logical people would want to be friends with me. And the popular kids all knew my name, because through some trick of the gods, all the popular, good looking kids that year had last names in the tale end of the alphabet like me, so home room was me and all of them. And thanks to the alphabet coincidence, our lockers were all next to each other, so I was physically next to them all the time. I had no idea I didn’t belong among them until someone pointed out how impressed they were that I was so comfortable with that group. “Am I not…one of them?” I remember thinking. That shattered my world view.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. I wrote a musical number about freezing eggs, and I think it might be my magnum opus.

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