*Insert Insanely Obnoxious Girly Freak-Out Moment Here*

I'm freaking out.

On the outside I might look cool and in control, but on the inside, I'm hyperventilating, babbling nonsense, and slowly dying.

You might be thinking: Seana, dear, you sound like you have some mental disorder? Maybe you should sit down, have a pomegranate, play with your pet quokka (which is probably the most adorable furry creature in the history of ever).

But alas, I have no pet quokka. Nor do I have a pomegranate, and I am already sitting down.

No, those will not help me.

Deep down inside, I know I have no call to be nervous. My lines for the play have been recited and practiced so much that they're practically engraved in my head. I've walked up and down the stage stairs many times in my pair of heels and I haven't fallen down the said stairs, nor have I fallen off the stage itself.

But even so, the deep, stomach-wrenching fear of messing up still is sitting on my shoulders. Even jumping on a sparkly, lime green pogo-stick will not dislodge that fear.

If I could, I'd put some really awesome, inspirational quote here at the end of this post, but I don't have one. All I have is this quokka.

Just kidding, I lied. I found some inspirational quoties.

Okay.

Deep breaths.

Here.

We.

Go.

Let's do this thing.