This happens too often:

I feel tentative, my stomach clenching as I contemplate it. My mind is going ten to the dozen with a toxic mixture of ideas of how to get out of it and images of the many ways it can go wrong and I can look bad. Dread washes over me and, instinctively, without even knowing it, I turn my attention away. To football, internet surfing, games, anything that can anaesthetize me to the prospect I am facing. I am a fraud.