Gwaaah, panic, terror

I don’t have butterflies in my stomach. I’ve got representatives from
every species of the order Lepidoptera and they’ve taken up residence
not only in my stomach but all throughout me, including the nerves of
my fingers.

I’m not doing something that scares me, I’m doing something that
terrifies the heck out of me. And I *know* that it’s not supposed to,
but I’m really, really nervous anyway.

Just remember, Sacha, it’s not going to be the end of the world. Okay.
Contingency plans.

If he doesn’t show up, I go ahead and have dinner with a bunch of
interesting people. Not a problem.

If people cancel, I can apologize profusely to the restaurant, and we
can have a cozier conversation.

If the restaurant turns out to be too noisy, we talk louder or we do
creative things with the seating arrangement. Mariko’s was doable, so
this should be okay.

If conversation is awkward, I can… umm… just remember that people
are responsible for enjoying themselves. I’ll do my best to keep
things flowing, though.

If more people show up than expected, I can drag more tables in.

And even if I flub it, some people will still be my friends. After
all, they’ve survived my cooking.

Right. Not the end of the world. Things are going to be okay.

Waaaaah!