He who Can't Cut the Mustard is Between a Rock and a Hard Place and is running Against the Clock
Well, well, well... we meet again. It seems I always find myself back here. A need to speak to no one in particular or to no body at all but yet everyone or anyone that finds themselves here. Let's see. I graduated in December with my Masters. I went the very quick route; no thesis and 12 credit hours a semester. I completed it as I intended although interestingly enough, accolades are not given for grades as they are in undergraduate studies. I have to remind myself that more than just an extra title or 'award' received, I wanted to the scores for me. Somewhere along my life's journey, I have collectively grouped all the voices that said 'I couldn't' into a faceless and terrifying entity that sits squarely on my shoulders. It holds in one hand a direct line to my subconsciousness and in the other a recorded, looped message doubting my abilities. Its claws hold tightly and I fear I'll never be able to shake it off of me. I vaguely remember a line