This is just a, very short, short story I wrote because I too deal with problems involving getting too nervous.
Anxiety
The agonizing anguish in Matthew Edwards' eyes would have been blatantly clear to a semi-observant onlooker, but was missed by his exuberant interviewer, who, being so transfixed on finally finding an adequate candidate, disregarded any indication that he didn't want to be there. Earlier that morning, the local weather man claimed that this would be the hottest day of the year, a year which was already one of the hottest on record in their southern Arizona town, but thankfully in the office where the job interview was being held, the air conditioning was working as properly as it had ever been, which did little to explain the damp perspiration crawling insidiously down Edwards' face.
If temperature didn't cause this, the second most likely culprit would be anxiety, but he should of had no reason to worry about acquiring this job; his résumé was far superior to any other candidate that Mr. Warton previously interviewed and most likely would be far superior to any that he would later, but the drops, who were now sliding down his cheeks, must have been unaware of this fact. The candidate had, at least so far, done everything perfectly; he answered every question eloquently and his replies were embellished with selective knowledge and when appropriate, careful wit. But if only he were not so nervous!
Every second he spent imprisoned in that office room distressed him even more until he could no longer bear it. In a matter of seconds he ended the horrible captivity, which in his peculiar mind seemed to last for hours. All he had to do was ask his oppressor, if he could take a brief break to compose himself and then never come back. If only escaping Alcatraz was this easy! After deceiving Mr. Warton, who was perplexed to why his eminent candidate felt the urge to adjourn this marvelous meeting, he gleefully left the office and started his descent to the outside world.
The door was only about twenty meters a way, the area that separated him from paradise was less than that of his patio. Step by jubilant step he rushed to his utopia and when the separation had shrunk to less than five meters and happiness was so near, a startling thought overcame him, he desperately needed this job. But he couldn't go back there, how could back to that ominous room and sit in that treacherous chair and speak to that, at least in his mind, intimating man, but he, for the sake of continuing to put food on the table, felt impelled to ascertain this job. Never before had he been in such a state of ambivalence.
For a while he just sat there and he pondered the idea of just sitting there for the rest of his life longer than a normal man should. But, if he just sat there for eternity, not only would he lose any chance of acquiring the position, but he would never be able to again enter the lush, green, and beautiful outside world. So now was the time for decisiveness and decisive he was. He lifted himself up, albeit slowly, from the cold wooden floor and in an even slower manner than his initial ascend, he returned to his hell. The stride there would have made Aesop's tortoise proud, and when he finallyarrived in front of foreboding door whose powerful dark color and heaviness symbolized what would await him, he with all the strength he could muster, opened the door and resumed the interview.
Needless to say Matthew Edwards got the job.
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
Than teach 10,000 stars how not to dance.
-- ee cummings
