i'll give my children toy guns any day of the week. thank you

Every Monday in my physics 107 discussion we have to talk about one question that was assigned to us and then answer a silly question. I always get SO nervous right before I have to speak. It's ridiculous. My hands start sweating. Its hard to swallow. I yawn continuously, trying to calm myself down. I can feel my heart beat a weird little pattern. Making up a beat, teasing my brain for the silly fear I have. I start contemplating running out of the room. Saying I was sick. I look out the window and am beyond jealous of the sun. Outside free. And then I get pissed OFF at the sun for not having to sit in this FUCKING chair just waiting for my turn to speak. I hate it. I am one of those people that would willingly kick the bucket before speaking in public. I dont care. I hate it more than anything. BUT...then...I hear my name ("Melody") AND ......then....out of nowhere I hear my voice, so fucking confident, saying "I had the question on quantum physics about high temperature superconductors..." (Where the HELL is this bullshit coming from?) I literally sound like i got the peace prize for discovering this shit. Well congratulations, its over, see ya again next week when im close to dying of a heart attack ONCE AGAIN. Its funny how the sound of your own voice can calm you. I forget how much i trust it, until i hear it.

And then I have to answer the silly question about what my favorite toy was as a child. Bullshit. Its all fucking bullshit. My favorite toy was a plastic gun. No lie. My second favorite toy was my dictionary. I can still see it. I took it from my dads 4th grade classroom when I was in kindergarten. I couldnt read. My mom would come flip it so I wasnt 'reading' it upside down. but I didnt care. I always tried to read it upside down. And I had this little old desk from my dads old classroom. I would sit in the desk, 'read' my dictionary, and I always had the plastic gun sitting right next to the book. Whenever someone would try to interrupt me, I would pick up the gun and tell them to leave. This is not a joke. I would speak in a different voice, really gruff. And just pick up the gun. Point it at my little brother, or older brother, or my mom if she tried to flip the book. She would then tell me that she would take the dictionary away if I kept doing it. But then my chunky little blonde haired brother would come in..."Melbuddy. (pronounced Melbahdee)" and I would pick up that fucking gun and say "Git out" hahahahahaha. I also remember little Z calling me Melbuddy all the time. I would get so so so pissed, and then I finally freaked out once. I love it.