Speech

Public speaking.

Face facts, I just scared most of you more than any horror movie or piece on the news. Many people are terrified by the concept of speaking in public, moreso that the fear of auto accidents or vampire attack or giant robots stepping on your house. Sure vampires are scary but they'll never get you. No one believes it'll happen to them. However, it is much more likely that you'll get called upon to get up in front of a group of workmates and explain your plan for a new phone system. Therefore it's much scarier.

Part of it is the standing. Sitting in your chair is less of a problem. It's much easier to sit around a table expressing your opinion than it is to stand up to do so. I think standing draws more attention to yourself and makes you more self conscious. It's as if you are going 'look at me and dissect every word coming from my mouth as you mock the fact that my hair is standing up oddly'. For some reason this kicks in even when it's a small group of people you know well. They're staring at you, trying to pay attention to what you're saying, hopefully wanting you to succeed, and you just get more nervous.

I've been a public speaker many times in life, not regularly but often. It's been enough times that I don't mind doing it but still don't enjoy doing it. I know most of the basic rules and worry about following them as I do it: stand up straight so that you can breath properly, keep your hands out of your pockets or off the podium should there be one, don't shift your weight from one foot to the other repeatedly, know your material, things like these. Just because I'm experienced doesn't mean that I don't agonize over it, going over speeches in my head as I try to sleep, rewriting things in my head as I drive. It's still nerve wracking.

Cuthbold knows I worry about speech making more than I should. That's why he decided to help me out. To reduce my tension, so he said, he didn't tell me until today that I had a speech to give... today! It was all written out for me so it was more of a reading than anything else but still!

It's not that easy to go up in front of a group of people and read something, even if the group knows you're just reading it. You need to be familiar with the text so that you don't continually stumble over the words and irritate your audience. You need to know it well enough to bring life to it so as to engage the audience's attention. If you can get them on your side, being comfortable enough to be friendly and energetic, they'll stay with you when you do fumble or stumble.

I had two hours to become familiar with about a half-hour's worth of speech. Thank you Cuthbold!

Clearly I survived the experience. The anticipation is generally worse than the event. No one started snoring. No one threw rotten fruit at me, or unrotten fruit for that matter. No one mocked me. I got up, did my words, got a chuckle at my witty comments, and sat back down again. In the end, no big deal.

I coasted through the afternoon though. Some days you earn your salary early in the day. This was one of them.

Static in the System

“At least it's not a restaurant.”

Sarah Jean's words came through the purple air thick and heavy. There was a feeling of ebb and flow, as if being affected by waves of water, yet there was no water. “You can't say I never take you anywhere.”

“This may count as nowhere,” she observed. “Was that a giraffe?”

“Where?”

“It's gone now, whatever it was.” Sarah Jean sighed. “I'm not sure I like floating here like this. Try focusing us to somewhere.”

“The changing colors aren't soothing to you at all?” I checked.

“They are nice,” she reassured, “but they're not what I'm in the mood for right now.” Focusing brought us a man speaking nonsense seated upon a red cow. “That's not much help. Who is that?”

“I think it's my Uncle Gene,” I answered. “I haven't seen him since I was about ten.”

“Any reason you'd be thinking about him now?”

I shook my head and quickly regretted the action. It felt like it took a day to move my head from one side to the next and the process left me nauseated. “I was trying to put us in a sunny field.”

“That might explain the cow,” she observed. “It doesn't explain why it's red.”

“Strawberry milk?” I offered.

“Do you often drink strawberry milk?” she checked.

“No. I probably haven't had that since... I was about ten.”

“Flashback time. You weren't on LSD as a child, were you?”

“No,” I answered. “Why?”

She grinned. “It would explain the colors. Very psychedelic.” My Uncle Gene's babbling was replaced by a blaring guitar, a well played guitar but loud. “Well, that worked!” she shouted over the noise. There was some shouting back and forth as I sought to communicate to Sarah Jean that she should say something else, to see if that would trigger another change in our surroundings. Once this message was received, she fought to have me hear her response. Finally I heard “I am hungry!”

Immediately we were elsewhere. The colors were replaced by walls, the guitar by hustle and bustle, and Uncle Gene became a number of similarly faced police officers. We were in a police station. “That was unexpected,” Sarah Jean stated. “I thought we would go back to the restaurant.”

“I suppose that we're here to 'arrest' your hunger,” I observed. She groaned and slugged me on the arm. And that was that.

Lunch is the Mind Killer

Lunch can be the great destroyer of motivation and momentum. You're having a good morning, you're getting things done, everything is falling into place, and then it becomes lunch time. When do you break off? When do you let things run without you for awhile? What do you eat? Where do you eat? Add a Friday afternoon into the mix and then suddenly you're in your office, it's 1:30, and you look around and go 'eh'.

Suddenly you were gone too long. Suddenly you ate too much. Suddenly all those grand plans you had to get caught up no longer appeal to you anymore. Suddenly the rest of the day becomes an exercise in struggling to feel that you got something else done.

Stupid lunch. I love lunch but stupid lunch.

Voluntering at a Fundraiser Could Work

Once a year, the Museum holds a fund raiser within the exhibit halls where food and beer is served, mostly beer. Bands play music. It's one big party.

Breweries come from all over for this event. While most are microbrews from our state, I've seen some from as far away as California and beers imported from Canada, Belgium, and England. Each brewery brings a variety of beverages from which to sample. There is no way to try them all in the three hours that the event is open. In earlier years, I've managed to visit every stand, or at least nearly every stand, but as the event has grown, that's not even possible any more. There are good beers and great beers to try.

This is why I'm concerned about working the event. I really enjoy the Museum. I really enjoy beer. I really enjoy being in the Museum with beer, as crowded as it can get. It's the sort of awesome that should happen more than once a year. Since it is only once a year, I don't want to miss it by working it.

Perhaps there is an after party where the volunteers polish off any remaining beer. Since I've walked around near closing time and have seen breweries run out of beer, this may not happen. Not knowing what I'm volunteering for doesn't help me either. Will I be working the door or the raffle, nowhere near the exhibits or the beer? Will I be transporting items?

I suppose Cuthbold has a point. I should focus on the fact that I'll be helping an institution I love, as well as the school that pays my bills. It shouldn't make a difference what I do as long as I'm helping.

It would be neat to be by the dinosaurs though.

Volunteered

“We're doing what now?”

Cuthbold sighed. “Oh, do pay attention Patrick. The university is providing staff assistance to the upcoming fundraising event at the Museum.”

“Volunteers,” I translated. “And I've already been volunteered, haven't I?”

“I've never known you to turn down an opportunity to assist the Museum before. I put your name down immediately upon receiving the information from the Museum.” He frowned. “Did they offend in some way?”

“No, it's nothing like that,” I reassured. “I was just planning on attending the event.”

Cuthbold was still confused. “You will be attending the event.”

“Yes but I was planning to attend the event as a customer not as a volunteer.”

“Eitherway you are contributing to the fundraising events of the Museum,” Cuthbold declared, his beaming smile indicating that, in his mind at least, all had been settled. “This way you also get to assist the maintenance of our good relationship with that institution.”

“I bet this way I get less beer,” I grumbled beneath my breath.

A Warning of Sorts

Chris looked haggard. Chris doesn't look haggard. I didn't think he could look haggard, being a vampire and all. “Ah Patrick. Good of you to come so promptly.”

“Well, you know I'm always keen to come visit,” I noted. “Getting a summons was a bit different.”

“The situation we find ourselves in is a bit different so some cautious is called for from all of us.” Chris leaned forward, the flames in the fireplace creating uniquely creepy shadows on his face. “The nature of reality is torn.”

I shivered. There is something in the timber of Chris' voice that generates shivers. His voice rumbles like a bass speaker. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Exactly?” Chris echoed. He leaned back in his mighty chair. “Exactly I am not sure. I can provide an approximate explanation.”

“Ballpark will work for me.”

“Excellent.” See? Shivers. His 'excellent' sounds like it's the response to 'we just executed the traitors'. He means well and he's creepy at the same time. “As it was explained to us, the walls between realities are thin at the moment. Normally abnormal phenomenon will be much less abnormal until the walls can be strengthened, rebuilt if you will.”

“So it's being taken care of?” Chris nodded. “That's good to know. What do we do in the meantime? Anything?”

“We were told to be extra alert,” was Chris' response.

“That doesn't really help,” I noted. “What does that mean exactly?”

“You have an interest in precision today.” Chris smiled. “As I asked the same question, clearly so do I.”

“And you received no clear answer.”

“Quite correct Patrick. The goal of the warning appears to be to reduce future panic but all it did was to generate current panic. Perhaps we will collide with the inhabitants of a parallel world or an alternate dimension. Perhaps the Old Ones of legend will attempt to reclaim the Earth for themselves. Or, perhaps, we will see nothing.”

“Just the normal abnormal,” I quipped.

“Yes.”

Respite

One of the nice things about life is that it doesn't seem to happen all at once. I mean, generally speaking, if you are madly busy, you know in the back of your mind that things will slow down. If things are slow, someday they'll pick up. Not feeling well? You'll lick that cold at some point. Things change so that it keeps you involved.

It's not always for the best. People you like seem to go away when you don't want them to go and people you just can't deal with are always there. Sometimes the cold never seems to fade away and you sniffle for months.

I mean, I've had stories to tell here but it's more catching up. The past week or so has been rather relaxing. Busy day at work, get home, eat, rest, sleep, nothing terribly exciting. That's not a bad thing. It's nice to catch your breath a little.

Of course, when things get slow, it just means you know they'll pick up again soon.