As an ode to one of my biggest fear: phone calls, I’ve written a beautiful, open and honest poem.
The words run deep. You’ll see.
(not really, sarcasm is an art!).
But it does give a pretty decent overview of how my day went today, with me having to cold-call 5 people in the company because I need them for things. Dammit.
Death to the phone-call It’s ringing. Oh god, it’s ringing. What if they pick up straight away. Wait. What if they don’t and it goes to voicemail? What if it just keeps ringing? What if I forget what to say? Wait, what’s my phone number. Should I mention that in my message? Fuck. Who was I calling again? I’m talking. Oh god, I’m talking. Fuck. I hate the sound of my voice over the phone. What if they laugh at my accent. What if I just keep talking? What if they don’t speak my language. Wait, what if I don’t speak theirs? Should I hide the panic in my voice? Fuck. Who was I calling again? They’ve picked up. Oh god, they've picked up. Hello? Hello? Hi! Hey. Hello! Oh. Crap. It’s just their voicemail. I sound like an idiot. Let me try again. Voicemail again. Oh. NO. IT’S THEM. THEY PICKED UP. Must. Act. Normal. Can’t. Be. Normal. Fuck. I hate phonecalls.