September Conversations

Each stanza’s a reflection Of the stages of vexation I go through every year

Some point in early September, just after breakfast.

“Muuuuum…

But what if I’m not good enough?
If I’m in a lower league?
If everyone is really smart and way ahead of me?

[looks up from newspaper]

And what if they’ve been practicing hard?
If I’ve been left behind?
If months away of nothing but play have dulled and slowed my mind?

[sighs, folds newspaper knowingly, we’ve been here before]

Also what if, once I am up to speed, I feel I’m not the right fit? If its not for me or I’m not for it?
If it all goes to …?

[comforting words]

Well, what if, though the work’s ok its impossible making friends? If nothing clicks and they’re a bunch of pricks?
If I’m miserable every day?

[gentle reassurance]

Ok, so I’m good at it and we all get on well, there’s still the teachers mind. What if, though they’re the best, we cannot connect?
If each lesson feels like a grind?”

On and on I usually go each and every September. Worrying, fretting, getting in a state
Until the ego calms down and surrenders

Then why, this year, am I not worried at all? Why has it stayed at bay?
‘Cos fuck it I’m ready, I now where I’m headed, BRING ON THE SCA.