It is 3 a.m. where I am and it has been a Shel Silverstein kind of night. I'm talking, of course, about the "Whatif" poem I read in my childhood.
I found myself lying in bed. Though my body is physically fatigued, I simply cannot drift into the dream state I so yearn right now. Thoughts keep invading my mind.
What if I don't have enough money to pay my rent?
What if I never succeed at having a proper career?
What if I do not earn a job that will let me stay in France?
What if I cannot extend my visa?
What if my education has truly been useless?
What if I can't lose weight?
What if I never feel confident about myself?
What if I never find the man who I deserve (and equally deserves me)?
What if I never find unconditional, heartfelt love?
What if my life never amounts to anything?
What if I feel worthless?
What if I go insane?
What if I never go back to sleep?
Why must these questions haunt me when I wish to close my eyes and give my body a rest?
Why must I sound like a complete loser at 3 in the morning?
Barb the French Bean