“It’s not me, it’s them,” she’d concluded.
Unable to master even a G chord, Jeggaleer Trank still knew deep in her heart that her guitar playing wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
After 3 years of oil painting, she knew her 45 unsold ‘art’ pieces weren’t as talentless as they looked.
And after having sent at least two of her closest friends to the hospital, she was sure her food wasn’t as vomitous as it tasted.
But self-doubt nagged her. She needed to talk to someone, and her shrink had told her to stop calling, even though she had told him the last time that he’d burst into tears that surely, it was him, not her.
She lit a candle, kneeled down and began to pray. “Dear Lord,” she said. “Are you there?”
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She lay there a long time before getting up again.
She lived on the first floor. But she couldn’t wait to blog about how she’d decided it was better to keep going, no matter what… which, she suddenly realized, was something she was very good at.
And somewhere, up in heaven, God rolled his eyes and did a facepalm.