Second-Guessing

It's one of my hobbies. Second-guessing myself. Overthinking a situation. Believing every time I step into a new situation that it's all about what will they all think of me and what if I fart in front of everybody and what if I talk about something completely inappropriate and what if I wear the wrong clothes and what if somebody doesn't like me and what if, what if, what if.

What if?

As if I'm the center of everything. Which I'm clearly not. But, for some reason, my brain goes through life thinking this way.

I'm leaving for BlogHer in two days and I completely stumbled into attending. The ever-classy Employee No. 3699 (author of Random Memorandum) wanted a roomie for the conference and she asked little ole me. I was utterly flattered (ME?!? But you don't know me! I could be a meth addict! I could be a serial killer! I could be... a geek. Just as bad. Sorry.) and was extremely excited.

Chicago!
Four days!
In July!
Bloggers I read and like and have hung out with are going to be there!
Parties galore!

Then, I began hearing through the grapevine about what to wear and the break-out seminars (Really? Seminars? About CSS and gaining bigger audiences? What about a seminar titled "We know you're just here to get away from the kids, so just sit in this nice, quiet conference room and we promise not to whine or tug on your pants leg! For two whole days!") and the schwag and everything else and last week I started to get intimidated. And the what ifs have been doing their damnedest to break me down and freak me out.

What if the only people I connect with are the people I already know, but they find people they like and want to hang with and then I'm all by myself watching shitty hotel pay-per-view?
What if the clothes I pick to wear for the parties are too dressy? Not dressy enough? Too SAHM?
What if my homemade business cards are too simple and pitiful and I leave the final afternoon seminar on Saturday only to find my cards scattered all over the Chicago Sheraton's lobby because everyone took them but no one really wanted them?

So, I'm basically sitting down here in northwest Atlanta having a pity party of gigantic proportions. Far be it for me to eke any fun out of the situation. Oh, no. I'll over-analyze the hell out of it and work myself up into a lather so that when I finally step off that plane on Thursday and into Linda's car, I'll be in such a state that only a fifth of vodka and some William Shatner will calm me down.

Good Lord. You'd think I was starting the first day of preschool.