Driving to and from Philadelphia in one day leaves a lot of room for thinking, especially when you’ve only gone there to find an apartment to spend the next five years living in. Therefore, I’ve been spending the last day doing much of that. Some conclusions I’ve reached:
1. I have way less willpower than I would prefer. I’m sure that’s a pretty popular notion for most people on the whole, but I’ve tended to pride myself on it in the past. Now, not so much.
For one, I made five or six New Years’ Resolutions, but I did ’em with a twist. Instead of starting off the new year forcing myself to act/do certain things, I had given myself the year to accomplish them. I had a chart (’cause I’m a wacko) that I used to rate myself every day in a Likert-scale to determine how close to “goal” I was. I haven’t touched it since March. Granted, three months is a pretty good track record for following a resolution-tracker, but what it boiled down to was that I wasn’t getting past 2 or 3 on anything. Today, I’d likely have 1 for most if not all of them.
On top of that, I’ve grown considerably worse! I was keeping note of what I was eating and managing to frequent Whole Foods, but that waned. Every time I try to get back into eating healthy or writing down my caloric intake (or even just jot down the foods I consume), I don’t get farther than a few days. And don’t even get me started on the exercise thing — all I want is to want to do it enough to do it. Again, I might have managed once a week at best.
I don’t bring any of these food/exercise/weight things up because I’m looking for someone to patronizingly tell me I’m pretty (and that they’d take me in a manly fashion were they unwed); I say it because I don’t really want to feel like a heifer every time I put on a pair of shorts. It’s not about what other people think–it’s about how I feel about myself (without being anorexic or bulimic, both of which I promise you I could never be).
I shouldn’t even bother bringing up the whole smoking thing. I went about a year having only smoked three or four stogies in total. A few weeks ago I bought a pack. And then another one the following week (I don’t really smoke more than about a pack/week in the first place). Yes, I stopped at two and haven’t purchased any since, but that doesn’t stop me from grabbing one off of the people in my life who smoke so much that they don’t even notice being less one or two a week. This is not okay. Not only did the majority of my family die from cancer, but I have vocal nodules I refuse to take care of by changing my habits. I’ve made so much progress, I can’t help but say, “hey, they’re pretty damn good — good enough at least.” And being around it so much makes me want it; why should I deny myself something I want so much that doesn’t seem to stop other people? It doesn’t help that several of these accomplices work with me–work is the single most disturbing place I frequent. I’m hoping leaving the job (and the state?) helps me with that. What’s six more weeks, right?
2. Oh, commitment, you fickle creature, you… (There’s irony in that in case you didn’t get it.)
I think I have all of the logical, rational emotions of someone who has been scorched (not just burned) by commitment in the past — it’s scary, it’s the source of a variation on claustrophobia (what’s the equivalent of anxiety due to being “trapped” by commitment?), it’s got an air of permanence despite its most modern usage as a temporary label, and it’s…stupid. Evolutionarily, I mean. I’ve been over this–boys aren’t supposed to commit and girls are obviously supposed to try to find the ones who might be defective enough to do so despite their natural proclivity. I don’t say this because I’m trying to rationalize the end of relationships; I simply believe it to be fact. You don’t have to agree with me; Darwin would have and that’s all that matters to me.
So in applied format, commitment, when it was just a thought, was incredibly appealing. Ooh, mine! After its inception, however, things changed ever-so-slightly. Ooh, mine! = still good, ’cause I’m not the world’s best sharer, but when I allow my brain too much slack in thought, it starts wondering where things could end up. (Reading a chapter on tests of personality and the footnote that like-couples facilitate more stable marriages could have shaken my brain up a smidgen as well.) Yeah, I know, everyone wonders where things could end up, but the pessimist in me realizes she’s non-confrontational and has a fear of being able to walk away if she’s no longer happy. The optimist in me thinks the pessimist is a dumb broad because there’s no need to even think about that, but you know how it goes.
I suppose it needs to be established that I am completely and totally happy where I am now. There isn’t even an inkling of a desire to run away (even of the all-too-common “before I get too involved,” because that’s already been and gone). It’s just my brain preparing for all possible situations, even though the ones that usually present themselves are the ones that haven’t even been thought of. Of course, I’ve briefly once-overed the opposite possibility and I’m not even comfortable enough to put more than the word “forever” anywhere near my thoughts on relationships. So yeah, that’s where I stand on that: in limbo, exactly where I should be at this point, I think.
Obviously, leaving for Philadelphia in a month and a half makes my brain go into overdrive when it ventures down that road. There are no answers of course, so the questions are rather moot. There’s just no real way to stop them, and it remains that the omission of information does not constitute lying. Sure, distraction works to an extent, but there always something there to remind me (cue song). And speaking of songs, this one currently has me hooked:
(excerpt from ‘Vaporize’ by Broken Bells)
Doubtless, we’ve been through this,
So if you want to follow me you should know:
I was lost then, and I am lost now,
And I doubt I’ll ever know which way to go.
I have also decided to re-apply to Adelphi for next fall. But I’m sort of cheating myself by doing this. I maintain that it doesn’t hurt anyone/thing for me to apply, it’s if I somehow manage to get accepted that becomes an issue.
…says the girl who used to sing “Break Your Heart” by Taio Cruz as if it were her theme song.
3. “Security just happens to be a calamity; no matter where you go exclusion is well known.” -L. Kudla, 1997-ish.
I’m not saying I’m insecure. I’m just saying it’s difficult to stay secure all the damn time. I don’t even have a lot to say to this. I was just making a general observation about myself. Of course, every girl’s daddy issues are partically at work here. Mine are simply exacerbated, but I digress, ’cause ya know, even more things I love could probably be taken away from me should I let my opinion be known. Screw psychology, what crap!
Speaking of which, there’s something I have less faith in in myself than I would like — it seems so many people in my cohort have some kind of background in the field (excepting an undergraduate degree). I worked at South Oaks for four months and did art. I didn’t do a single assessment or do a 1:1 because Deanna did the 1:1s and the graduate students did the assessments. I’m a n00b, and it’s scary. What if it turns out I’m really horrible at it? It’s bad enough that every time I think I’m giving good advice, I do it in a way that offends the person I’m telling it to. Am I trainable? Or am I making a horrible mistake?
4. I lied. There aren’t really other things to say that I generally think about. Lately, it’s been those three. Otherwise, I think about Kellen, I think about my grandmother, I think about my future, I think about my father (unfortunately), and I think about my job, which is screwed up to high hell (but not really my problem come the end of August, right? I have to keep telling myself that). Everything else that I think about is either unimportant or fleeting.
And now that I’ve successfully stalled for an hour and a half at going to work for all of 30 minutes, I shall return to my regularly scheduled janitorial work.