In Congress today, I discovered that everyone who hadn’t presented their Senior Portfolio in their elective course still had to go. And this was totally fine with me until we were told that we would be doing that right then in front of the entire body. I could feel my face morph itself into an expression of extreme concern, and I slumped down in my chair, repeating “oh, geez, oh, geez, oh, geez” to Audrey.
My portfolio presentation wasn’t poorly written per say; it just wasn’t my best work. Doing the write-up had been an immense struggle as all of the old negative emotions from writing all of those essays had been dredged up. Here was the essay that made me storm out of the house at midnight and go sit at the train station for an hour, and there was the essay I wrote on my 16th birthday that made me think that nothing would ever get better.
And somehow, despite all of this, I was supposed to stand up in front of two hundred-ish kids and talk about my portfolio and read a letter addressed to an incoming sophomore. It wasn’t going to be pretty. Other seniors read theirs and I began to feel that I would never measure up. I crossed my legs as tight as I could and whispered to Audrey. The longer I waited to hear my name being called, the tenser I got.
Finally, the bell rang, and the period was over. While I am relieved that I didn’t have to go today, I am not looking to repeat the unhappy anticipation next week.