The Road to Acceptance

I'm in an introspective headspace lately, internets, so my bloggyposts will probably reflect that. But who knows—I might rebel soon (imagine that!) and boomerang back to inanity (face it—it's just a matter of time).

In my more worn out and reflective state of mind—and seriously, self, what is up with the having to get exhausted before you will tune in and pay attention to what's going on? Other than, ya know, the obvious distraction technique and other such nonsense—I've discovered yet one more counterproductive thing I do.* When get to feeling as I have been lately, instead of just acknowledging the mental or physical fatigue, honoring it, working through it, and such, I get a little embarrassed and angry.

What. the. HELL.

Nothing like kicking yourself when you're down, right? 'Cuz that's all helpful and stuff.

Sheesh.

I don't know if it's my brain needing some kind of justification for the tired—which is a distinct possibility, given how I take after my perfectionist father (who also lays claim to a Protestant Work Ethic despite being a cradle Catholic)—or guilt of some kind (see previous comment re: being raised Catholic). Could be a little from column A and little from column B, I suppose.

Now that I'm pondering it (by way of vomiting words onto a pixelated page), it might be yet another way to distance myself from the actual emotion of a thing by intellectualizing it. (Those of you who know me IRL can quit smashing your respective foreheads into your desks and/or guffawing now, thanks.)

Malaise doesn't go on sandwiches

There's some malaise happening in my world these days, internets. (It sounds like a condiment for moody people, doesn't it? Then that makes me wonder what ennui would taste like, only I realize I don't care...)

ANYway...

I'm re-realizing how much time and energy the business of living life takes. (This became terrifyingly clear to me during radiation for my Boobonic Plague... some days, just managing to brush my teeth and get dressed was a major victory.) It's kind of stunning if you think about it, really. I mean, even on the days I plan to be lazy (yes, I'm just Type-A enough to schedule such things—don't judge!), I still need to eat, which means if my budget doesn't allow delivery that there will be cooking, which equates to dishes to do. Then there's getting the mail, or getting dressed, or a million other things that don't seem like much until you stop and count them. And that's not even taking work and related tasks into account.

Grocery shopping. Scrubbing the toilet. Taking out the trash. (I would say dusting but dust is considered a protective covering at my house so... yeah.) Mail. Laundry. Yard work. These are things that have to get done no matter what state of mind or health one is in. I don't even want to add up how much time that takes the average person, because I already know it's significant.

F*@kin' Perfect

Once upon a time, there was a girl who thought she needed to be perfect. Her father was quite the perfectionist, you see, and she adored him so clearly she should attempt to be perfect, too.

While she grew up to be smart and have a few talents, she also worked very hard to Make Everything Right. She did so not only because she wanted to make her father happy, but because she thought that if she was clever enough to see around corners, thinking everything through thoroughly, then she could troubleshoot where things go wrong and head them off at the pass. And if she never made any mistakes, then she'd never have to hurt.

As you can imagine, things did not go as planned.

Years later, in a moment of pique and pain, she poured her guts out in an online journal format. A girl she sort of knew saw this post, and said something like this:

"Wow! You always seemed so together, and you totally intimidated me. Now I see you're more like me than I ever imagined. I can totally relate to you now that I know you're not perfect!"

And thus, a wonderful friendship was born.