The Follies of Perfection, or the Perils of Being Human

I was raised in a household where if I wasn't perfect, then I wasn't good enough.

Guess what! I was never good enough! Why? 'Cause I'm not perfect.

My parents felt incredibly threatened by my intelligence, and they also found it much, much easier to focus on my "flaws" as a child than to focus on their big, big, big flaws as parents. Therefore, I was the object of much criticism.

I still beat myself up mentally more (much more) than is necessary. Self-criticism is a necessary thing at times, but not to the point where you're being your parents in your own head. As my therapist said to me last week, "When you find yourself berating something you've done, realize that isn't you; it's your parents." She's right.

My parents were, and still are, from what I gather, miserable pieces of shit. My parents are both in their 70s, but both are dead to me. They have been for a long time now. My father finds it easy to point out the flaws in everyone immediately--it's a great way for him to keep from having to concentrate on his own. His fat pig of a second wife is the same way. I had enough, and dropped them. The word "family" doesn't mean that people have any more right to fuck you over than anyone else.

Christ only knows that I'm not exactly Pollyanna, but if you want to find the bad about something, anything, it can be done. Some people find it easier than others.

That's why I cannot stand complainers, whiners, or blamers. If you don't want to make things better, than shut the fuck up and wallow in your misery alone. I don't want to hear about it. I have absolutely zero patience with those that want to whine about how bad something is and then do sweet fuck all about changing it.

Maybe that's the one good thing having someone like my father in my life taught me--whiners are assholes not worth tolerating.

He once said to me, "People point out the flaws in others that they have themselves." Right, Dad. You're a pretty flawed son of a bitch, then.

I read a quote some months ago that really blew my head apart, in a good way. It said:

"Perfectionism is the highest form of self-abuse." -Anne Wilson Scharf

I only wish I'd read this quote back when I was a little kid, and just learning how to read. It wouldn't have helped me in dealing with my parents, but it would have helped me in the many years since I began letting my parents rent out space in my head, even though I physically moved out a long, long time ago.

They owe me a lot of back rent.

The past few days, when I've just been very dissatisfied with the way things have gone just in general, I realize it's because I'm wanting them to go perfectly, and that's not how life happens. Life happens as life happens. Actually, having the way things went yesterday opened up some new avenues for me that I didn't know existed, and what I wanted to get done did get done. Just not the way I thought it would.

Once again, I need to practice not planning so much and let the Universe lead me as it will. Sometimes "giving up" in a good way is the best, not to mention the easiest way to go. I fight giving up just as I fight relaxation, because to relax is to be comfortable with oneself, and that's not something I was raised to be. I think it's always important to strive to improve, but to aim for perfection is just folly.

It slays me how in interviews they're always asking what your goals are, or where you see yourself in five years' time. The last time I got asked that in an interview, it was by a man who was clearly fed up with the world and not very happy in general. I looked at him and said, "I'm going to be five years farther along than I am right now. I've tried making plans, and whenever I do for that far in advance, something always happens to change my plans completely, so I'm concentrating on the here and now, and the future will take care of itself."

I liked that answer. I don't know what he thought of it. I wasn't called back for a second interview. Good.

Spring weather -- My promise to try less

I have no idea what I'm writing about today. I'm busy trying not to feel guilty about not having posted since last Saturday. And even busier trying not to feel guilty about being indoors on a computer when the weather outside is so phenomenal.

This was a rough week, all around. Monday's events just ripped the heart out of me; I can barely even read the news, and even then, only the barest of the facts.

The weather stunk, too. It's been colder than normal here, with rain and clouds and just an unspring-like feel. I wore gloves on Wednesday, as did others, and some were wearing hats.

And then, yesterday, glorious spring. Beautiful spring. And more today, and more tomorrow, and more Monday.

I find the onset of spring to be both incredibly comforting and incredibly discomforting. I need to paraphrase Shakespeare here: Now is the spring of my discontent. So much possibility in the spring, and so much I still need to do. I keep thinking of all I haven't accomplished with my life, instead of being proud of the changes that I've made, especially since last May.

I am grateful for what I have, and who I have in my life. People come through for me sometimes when I least expect it--a word of kindness or something unexpected. I used to say that I was still looking for my soulmate to appear, but I hope I've gotten wiser by realizing that you can't look--you can only find. I'm trying to enjoy each day, even on days like today when I'm sleep-deprived and emotional. I had fun plans for today, and they're going to be put off until tomorrow, when I'll be juggling house chores and sunshine outings the same day.

This spring, I need to try less, in some cases, and just be. Goals are swell, but I put such pressure on myself trying to meet them that I wind up feeling worse by setting them than if I just did what felt good. I'm so driven by my own standards of what I need to do or should be that I'm not letting myself enjoy my life as I should, and can.

I found a book by Wayne Dyer by accident on the shelf in the library when I was looking for something by Joseph Campbell and he talks about one way of shedding your ego is to not have goals. He says you'll feel better that way. Sounds good to me. I need to keep reading the book, but it's a radical concept in our society. We've got to do more, aim higher, and never be satisfied in this society of ours. And it works. People are so unhappy. So many people are taking so many prescriptions for anxiety, depression, sleep disorders, stomach problems, and the rest of it because they're letting society rule their life, instead of being their own rulers. And it doesn't work. Somehow, someway, we've let others decide who/what/when/why/why/how we should be living our lives, and it doesn't work. It's about time we all began listening to that inner voice of ours. I know that whenever I don't pay attention to mine that I wind up very sorry I didn't.

And sometimes it's not even trusting my instincts that helps me get in my own way. It can be just setting impossibly high standards or goals, or sometimes just setting goals. I've made a pledge to aim for things that I want, but only a couple of things at a time. I'm working more on trying to let the Universe lead me along, and throw a couple clues in my way about what I should do, where I should go, and how I should live. I'm not in the least religious, but I'm trying to just get out of my own head more and abdicate this feeling of always having to aim so high. I need to please myself, and I can do that by letting past expectations be just that--past expectations.

So, spring is here. I'm going to let that feeling of discontent come, as it usually does, but just observe it and realize that I'm not obligated to do anything about it. And maybe it'll go away on its own.

Hugs and misses

I was all set to go out tonight and whoop it up with the crew for several hours. Really looking forward to it.

Then, word comes along that it's supposed to really, really, really rain tonight. And tomorrow.

Tomorrow I can deal with. Tonight, I'm disappointed over. I could be hardcore, and go out anyway, but hanging out in the rain for a few hours, to where we're due as much as 2 inches tonight alone, just doesn't do it for me. Some rain? No problem? Torrential rain and dropping temps? Problem.

What I'm really going to miss most is not the food, or the mood, but the hugs and the smiles I was going to get and give. I miss my peoples! I'm lucky to know many people who are so generous in so many ways, and I've always got the opportunity to meet a few more people when I'm there.

I had a friend back in college who told me that he took a course where he was supposed to get 10 hugs a day. Seems like a lot. He just got used to asking for them. And he got them. What a cool course to have taken--I forget who his psychology professor was, but sir or madam, I thank you.

I loved being hugged. I'm an affectionate person to begin with, but I'm also cognisant of people's boundaries. I hate it when people I don't know that well (or at all) come grab me like I'm their long-lost billionaire cousin, but if I know you, and we've met at least once or twice before and the vibe is good, show me the love.

Hugging people keeps you healthy, as well as the people you're hugging. Unless they're coughing in your face while you're hugging each other, you can't get sick from a hug, either. Not that there's anything wrong with kissing, but I'm not a casual kisser.

I'd set a goal of getting at least 20 hugs (having backed down from my original goal of 25), and was going to use my friend Dave's method of letting people know my goal and asking for one, just to be sure I would meet my quota with no problems.

There's all kinds of hugs out there, and all kinds of huggers--the tentative, the bone-crunchers, the prolongers, to name a few. I usually guess beforehand if I've never hugged someone and we're about to what kind of hug I'll get from them, and 75% of the time or more, I'm right. You can get different hugs from the same person at different times of the day, too. There's the sobriety factor, the familiarity factor, the daily fun factor (a better day results in a bigger hug at the end of it, whereas earlier hugs may offer less of a squeeze factor), the emotional closeness factor, the reason-why factor, and several others I'm not able to think of right now. I've hugged someone earlier in the day and gotten a "you're made out of porcelain, so I'm going to be very careful about this" hug, and at the end of the day gotten a truly wonderful bearhug goodbye that could have lasted longer but didn't.

Now, I've gotta wait about three weeks or so to see everyone. Sucks.

If it's gonna rain, it's gonna rain. This is April, after all, and Mother Nature knows best. I just wish she could hug me 20 times today.

Michael and Don and Duke

I've never listened to Don Imus. Never listened to Howard Stern. I used to listen to the Greaseman by default back when he was on DC101 before he went syndicated and then got fired. I think the Greaseman is back on DC radio somewhere. The only reason I've heard some of the Greaseman's shows is that someone I worked with used to play him non-stop, so I had no choice but to listen. He didn't really bother me. I spent most of the time wondering how he could make that much money in the morning by not doing a whole lot except trying to be one notch more runoff-at-the-mouth than any other a.m. jocks. Hell, I'm pretty damned smart-mouthed in the morning, all day, really, and I've never raked in the money like he did.

Michael Olesker was forced to resign from the Baltimore Sun last year sometime, or was it the year before, due to some information in his column being too close to looking like he borrowed someone's homework without their asking and ran it under his byline.

He's now writing for the Baltimore Examiner. The Examiner is free. I used to get it delivered to my house, not that I asked, because I live in one of the zip codes where everyone gets one unless you say, "Stop!" They stopped delivering to me without my asking. I'll pick one up at a box they have every block or so on busy Baltimore streets, and read it that way.

Today's column is about the whole Don Imus "nappy headed hos" comment, or whatever he called those basketball players. And now, Donny is apologizing himself blue while people are calling for him to be fired, and how dare he, blah, blah, blah.

Michael Olesker is right when he says that Imus goes on Jesse Jackson's show to apologize. Jesse himself back in the day referred to part of New York City, I think it was, as "Hymietown," because of the large Jewish population in that area. There was a pretty funny skit on Saturday Night Live with Eddie Murphy singing a song called "Hymietown" that following week.

Imus also goes onto Reverend Al Sharpton's show to apologize. What was that whole racist bit about Tawana Brawley and the Reverend?

Olesker is right on target when he talks about how both Jesse and the Rev weathered their storms and are still on the radio today.

Racism goes both ways.

What about those horrible, horrible, white Duke lacrosse players who were found guilty by many because they were white and that dancer they "raped" was black? All charges against the lacrosse players were dropped today. The other dancer at that party said that the dancer who accused them told her that she was "going to get some money" out of them. She didn't. But their lawyers sure as hell did. And the taxpayers of North Carolina sure lost a lot of money on her behalf.

As I remember, all the Duke lacrosse players had DNA tests done. The accusing dancer was found to have the DNA of three different men in her panties when they were tested from that night. Not one of those three samples matched the DNA of the lacrosse players accused, let alone any of the other Duke lacrosse team.

Eventually, both dancers stopped cooperating with prosecutors, and all charges were dropped.
If she had really been raped by the three she accused, wouldn't she want to help the prosecutors to the fullest extent?

If that dancer wants to be gang-banging on her own time, that's her business. If she wants to be doing it to "get some money" out of some white boys, then it's not her business. The lacrosse players all maintained their innocence from the giddy-up, and very few people believed them. The two that were still students at Duke (the one student graduated before he was indicted) got suspended from the university. They were invited back after that, but refused the invitation.

I don't know if Michael Nifong actually thought he was being Superman when he went after those men so zealously, but he didn't do anyone any good, including himself. I wonder how he feels today. I wonder if he's able to look those three men in the face. I wonder if that dancer is able to look at herself in the mirror. If she is, she shouldn't be. I don't believe in a god, but I do believe very much in karma. We all do wrong. Some of us do more wrong than others. I don't know what her thoughts are now that the case has been dropped. I do remember reading that she has a child. I only hope that her child is at least 50% moral, which would be 50% more than its mother is. It's a fact that the child isn't going to get rich off the money that the mother got from those nasty, terrible white lacrosse Duke boys who she accused of sexually assaulting her.

Racism goes both ways. Maybe they should have the dancer on Don Imus' show.

Why I blog and the conundrum of computers

When I first heard the term "blogging," I thought to myself how wrong that seemed.

Don't people have enough going on in their own lives that they would want to read what would be going on in someone else's? They must be pretty hard up for things to do, I thought.

I felt like that for a long time until my therapist began suggesting to me that blogging would be a good way to express myself. "You're such a natural writer," she said.

I fought her about it for a while, and then began to let the idea enter my head. After a while, I began to see that even if I'm the only person doing anything with it (if Helen Keller falls in a forest, does she make a sound?), then that's fine, because I'm really the only person it needs to benefit. If it does wind up benefitting someone else, well, then, that's icing on pound cake, as the old saying goes. It just seems strange keeping what basically amounts to an online diary.

I went out and read Blogging for Dummies by Brad Hill, which was enjoyable, but out-of-date, considering how Blogger has changed. I also bought a laptop. I don't watch very much TV at all--haven't had the TV on since the Golden Globes--so I'm still not connected at home, but wi-fi is a happy, happy thing. Although the "customer service" at Hewlett Packard can be maddening (Don't even try their chat sessions, as it's really hard to get them to figure out what you're asking, and their "customer service" department is in India. If you get someone with a decent command of the English language, you're OK, but if you have a hard time understanding them, forget it.)

There's a lot I need to say, that I want to say in this blog, but some days I'm not in the mood, and other days, I'm just too damn tired to write anything that will actually take time and emotions. It's helpful for me to write, always has been, always will be. Socrates was right when he said, "The unexamined life is not worth living." It's too easy to spend your life running away from the hard things in life, the things that make you regret your past, for whatever reason. Sometimes, I'd like to write about a particular topic, but I'm just not up to putting myself through the hurt that day. I'm working on that, too. Since May, when I went back into therapy, I've learned more about myself than I thought I could. I've learned a lot about why I've done what I've done throughout my life, and this is much more related to what I've done on my own than what I've learned sitting on the couch in my therapist's office.

And that is the good part. In the end, we've all got to be our own therapists. No one can make us see something that we want to see about ourselves if we don't want to see it. It's easy to block out someone's comments, true as they may be, when they're said to us by a friend, a stranger, or ourselves. It's easy to find a reason to drop the therapist if the wounds start to open and it's hurting, but the wound has to open and drain before it can heal properly. Sometimes I wonder if the wound will ever stop draining, or if it's just too big. I don't know. In the meantime, the work goes on through my sessions with her, and my own work, including this blog.

Now, one thing I really don't get is Twitter. I read in the Baltimore Sun last Sunday how it works, and to me it's like a post-it note of one's day. Do I really want to log on and see that you've eaten a chicken sandwich for lunch? No, I do not. Do I really give a shit? No, I don't. Hell, even my close friends and I wouldn't check in saying what we ate for lunch every day.

It's scary to think how computers have taken us away from face-to-face interaction. Computers are wonderful, and there's nothing like email for keeping in touch, but I've dealt with men who only want an email penpal--face-to-face relationships were too scary. That's why I gave up on
online dating. Lots of guys out there who act like they're ready, but when it comes down to it, they're not.

And, there's the assholes who are little pipsqueaks in real life, but incredible know-it-alls online. The Wizard of Oz effect, I like to call it. They wouldn't say shit to you if they had a mouthful of it if they were in a room with you, but get 'em behind the safety of a computer screen and don't they become All Mighty and Powerful. And complete utter pricks.

I don't get the whole addiction to Facebook and Myspace. For god's sake, go meet at a bar! "It's been great spending time with you, but now I have to run home to my computer and spend two hours talking about what we did for 30 minutes in person before I got too anxious being away from my computer screen." Sheesh.

I have a good group of friends now, and I'm really looking forward to seeing many of them next Saturday. We spend time online when we're not together physically, but there's no substitute for human interaction. They can't hug me online. I'm so looking forward to seeing everyone and being and getting hugged, and catching up with people since I saw them last November.

I've got a friend Jane whom I've not seen for months--her schedule, my schedule. Our emails are back and forth when we can, but our lives keep us in the way of getting together sometimes. I'm glad to hear from her, and her "how are you"s are always heartfelt, which matters much. But I miss her. Just as I miss my friend Maria and the other friends who I don't get to see because of physical distance.

I can deal with physical distance, it's the emotional distance in people I'm done with. Forever.

The delicate art of psychotherapy

I've been back in therapy since May of last year. It was time to go back.

I'd not been in therapy for a long time, and I'd given myself the impression that I'd never have to go back again, until the whole "emotionally unavailable" thing reared its head again in a particularly emotionally unhealthy way, not that dealing with anyone who is emotionally unavailable for more than a very short period of time is healthy. Oops.

No one makes you dance the dance of whatever it is you're dancing unless you decide to do so. It was time to come off the dance floor and learn another way of dancing.

So, back into therapy I went. Celeste, as I'll call her, got my phone number wrong the first time the agency she works for contacted her with my name and number. I'd called the supervisor at the agency again to find out why I'd not heard anything, and later on that night, the phone rings.
I liked Celeste on the phone right away when she called me. She was open and friendly and enthusiastic. Good. Her office is literally down the street from my house, too. I can walk there in 10 minutes or so.

We're about the same age; she is a little younger than I. She has a terrific figure--tiny waist, and boobs she was born with that lots of women would place a catalog order with on plasticsurgeonsrus.com. She's bright and articulate, and empathetic and likes me a lot as a person, not just as a client. I am very grateful to her for that.

She is also really good at pushing some of my buttons. Really good.

She has been late for several sessions--she was late about eight or 10 times in a row. I finally decided enough was enough, and called her on it. It's been a problem of hers for a long time, she confessed. For the most part, she's done a good job of being on time since then.

Some of her button pushing has been without her even knowing she's pushed them. Sometimes I don't even know those buttons have been pushed until after our session has ended, and I've had time to think about what we've covered earlier that day, or that week.

Before I was able to finally figure out that it was the whole adrenal burnout/hormonal imbalance thing with me, my moods were swinging back and forth like a seesaw, and sometimes Celeste got to bear the brunt of my getting jerked around.

I took a break from her last fall for about a month while I fell back and regrouped. There was something missing from our sessions that I couldn't put my finger on, and I was feeling like nothing was being done in the way of constructive therapy, so why go?

After much researching on my own about my emotional foibles, both with her and without her, I was able to get a clearer picture of myself and what it was I needed from her. We're still working on that, but we're both able to see what it is that I do and what it is that she does that both supports each other and doesn't.

She understands that the client/therapist relationship is truly symbiotic.

She was late for our last session and didn't call me while en route to let me know she was stuck in traffic but on the way. I was upset by this, especially since her lateness is something that I'd addressed to her before. It also bothered me that she hadn't called me, as a point of professional courtesy. I'd called her to ask where she was, and she told me she was on her way, but by then, the damage was done. I should have addressed it as soon as she showed up and we were in her office, but I pushed it aside, thinking it might not matter later on.

It did. As our upcoming session drew closer, I began to get more anxious about the possibility of another showdown, and resentful that it would take away from my time talking about me. We've spent time talking about our rapport, and it seemed like when I finally felt like she knew what was going on, and what caused my hackles to rise, something would happen again.

She called me early this morning after I'd left her a message with my concerns a couple of days ago on her office voicemail, and I told her how what she'd done by not calling me made me pull back from trusting her. Trusting her is the litmus test for trusting everyone else, for better or for worse. Trust is a big issue with me. I've trusted those I shouldn't have trusted, and haven't trusted my own good judgement, to my detriment. I'm getting much better at trusting myself and going with my true feelings, no matter what someone else might think. It's a good thing, and too long in coming, but because it's new, it also feels strange, and a bit scary at times.

I don't know how much sense I made this morning, as she called early, and I wasn't really awake, having gotten to bed at 1:30 last night, but I know she's more able to ascertain how I process things, as am I. Good for the both of us.

My next session with her is Monday afternoon, and it will have been two weeks after I've last seen her. I'm sure the whole "you didn't phone me" issue will be brought up, but for the sake of closure so I can move onto the other issues I'm dealing with right now.

Good psychotherapists are like good car mechanics. Hard to find, but worth building a good relationship with. I'm lucky to have both. I hate having to find either one.

Fountains of Wayne's "Traffic and Weather" and CD prices

I got the Sunday Sun all full of hope only to have it dashed away when I opened up both the Best Buy and Circuit City weekly ads to see absolutely no touting of the sale price for the new Fountains of Wayne CD, out today.

I'd not "preordered" (what a stupid word that is) it because I figured I'd get a much better deal waiting for opening day.

Wrong!

The CD lists for $15.98. Bestbuy.com is selling it for $14.99. Wow. Now that's what I call a bargain! I didn't even bother checking Circuit City's site. Websites are mostly selling it for $12+, so with shipping and handling, I'm much better off buying it in person somewhere.

I figured I would be able to pick up a copy for $9.99 or thereabouts somewhere. The cheapest I've been able to find it for is $12.99 at a store around here. Of course, I drove right by it earlier today and didn't bother to stop in to see what their price was. Oops.

Usually, record stores try to "move those units" by pricing a new release way low. Makes sense. Now, I don't know if Richard Branson (forgive me if I offend by leaving off the "Sir", sir) is trying to pay to fix global warming all by his lonesome, but if so, he's off to a good start. Virgin Records, am I doing my share to help the environment by paying out the ass for this CD?

I did research many years ago on the price of a CD, and where the money actually goes. Actually, it was for vinyl, but the same thing, really. Most of the money from a CD goes straight into the pockets of the record execs. Not the bands. The bands/artists make most of their money from touring. Even artists with a really, really good contract aren't going to make a killing off of CD sales, unless they sell a skidillion copies or something close to it.

So, why the high price? If record labels kept their damn CD prices reasonable, fewer people would be turning to the Internet to download the record illegally, like that kid did that I met at the FoW showcase a couple of weeks ago. I didn't approve of what he'd done, but now, I'm beginning to understand why.

Music is still your best entertainment value, at least if you like the damn CD. If it sucks a big one, then you're screwed. I know I'm going to play the living hell out of this baby when I get it (I wonder if I can say the same about the new Nine Inch Nails CD when that comes out in two weeks, as I've not liked the two songs I've heard online), so it's not like it won't be worth the money, but still, you'd think that record company execs would have at least one-sixth of a brain and get the damn CD prices as low as makes sense so that people like me would go out and buy the thing instead of wondering if I should wait to see if the price comes down any or if I should just try to find that kid at the FoW showcase and make friends with him to get my copy.