“She’s always blindfolded, otherwise she wouldn’t do anything.”
A day where I realize the new deep. I knew this realization was coming. The actual gasping sense of realizing you are in way over your head and you do not know how to begin to survive.
I have a plan. I have a plan I have asserted I will do. To survive. I’ve smiled and earnestly said yes, oh boy oh boy oh boy, I’ll work so hard for you. And I’ve meant every oh and every boy. But part of the plan is me figuring out how to let myself shift into an adult mode. Into knowing, oh, no, that’s not acceptable when someone suggests a change or states a fact. Into being the gatekeeper. Into doing exactly what it is they’ve hired me to do.
One must sink or one must swim. I always thought if I just lay still, I could just float, safely on my own, but there’s been enough of a breeze these days that my tiny allotment of clever inflatables is no match and, bam, I keep hitting the wall.
And that wouldn’t be so bad, except these fancy, high-tech walls are equipped with klaxons that ring like Operation anytime you fuck-up or are adjacent to any sort of fuck-up-yet-to-be. And that wouldn’t be so bad except you ring the bell, word gets around. Word gets around fast, if people aren’t already with their glasses at the tip of their nose, watching you.
I got asked today what was going well and was hard-pressed to think of anything, as I was so aware of the bad feedback and needing to correct it. So desirous to be perfect, gleaming. Spotless. And it used to be that my perfectionism was painful because it existed outside of reality – it was my own standards I couldn’t meet. Now, it’s everybody else’s.
So I need to focus. Take time and figure this out. Get my hair cut and look more professional (I suggested this, but was not dissuaded from my view.) Be willing to spend some portion of Sunday working and picking nits. I have to lay down on the paperwork and let myself find the rhythm of it. I have to build flash cards and flow charts and checklists and make notes to staple to my forehead and in the midst of all of that…
I realize how much of me is taken up with other things, other desires, to be writing, often, or to be connecting with J. is another, or thinking about something to share with my friends, or just to be laying somewhere just not-ting for a while. and how I thought I had all of those curious, distracting thoughts locked down. That I was working hard at work. But there’s a lot of needing to not push through and instead, feel the soft touch of one of these kind places and I don’t know how to cut that cold turkey because it’s kind of where my soul is.
But like it or not – and I don’t – something’s got to be done.