Trying Again

I started writing the next entry of my vacation series, but I didn't feel like messing with pictures very much. Then my computer locked up, and I lost a couple paragraphs of the entry. By that time, I was so frustrated that I decided to forget it. I never picked it up again for the rest of the week. I opened the file up almost every single day, but I didn't do anything with it. I opened it up, looked at it, then usually left to do something else. Eventually I would come back and close the file again without having done a thing. Word didn't even ask me to save the file. I didn't so much as put in a space.

And that is how I've felt lately. It's a feeling that's plagued me for at least a couple months. I have been flighty, forgetful, and generally unmotivated. I have an inkling it's beginning to get on a few people's nerves, but so far, no one has done much more than give me a sideways glance or more than fail to meet my gaze when I give yet another excuse for why I forgot something. It's so bad that I'm getting on my own nerves.

I felt pretty good after vacation, once I got over the cold from hell and the pinkeye. I cleaned my house very nicely, and I thought things were great. Then my brother left, and I let the house go again, and all I wanted to do was lie in a heap on the bed. The kids finally got out of school last Monday (They had to go for a half day. How dumb is that?), making way for much lolling in bed, but I kept getting up at the same time every day anyway. The only difference from the week before was the kids were bugging me all day long instead of from 3 PM on. So I haven't even been lying in bed, which is probably for the best, but I haven't done anything else either.

Today I decided I absolutely have to do something with myself and start treating myself better. I keep talking about planning my future, going to school, getting a job and such, but I haven't made any further moves to do any of it. I'm still sitting in limbo. The only change I made was to start talking about doing something.

I have neglected myself too. Not only do I not eat well and fail to exercise the way I should, but I don't do other simple things for myself either. I'm three months past due to have my annual GYN exam. I'm about the same for a yearly physical. I haven't been to the dentist in over a year too. The last time I saw an eye doctor was more than ten years ago. Part of this is because I really dislike health professionals, but that falls short of explaining everything. I just haven't taken care of myself. In more simple ways, I put off buying clothes and other things I need, I don't wash my face every day among other little maintenance chores, and I sacrifice comfort because it costs too much. I have a deep-seated feeling that I'm not worth the money or effort.

Essentially, I've labeled myself a failure. To be a failure, one cannot succeed, so if I am a failure, I certainly can't do anything that would make me not a failure. It's bad logic, but then no one has ever mistaken me for Mrs. Spock.

This is what happens when your feelings of self-worth come from a report card.

I have always wanted to blame my problems on my relationships. I went out with a few bad apples and made some wrong decisions. Those things did cause me to drop out of lots of classes and cause my grades to fall in the classes I kept, but those wouldn't have mattered as much if I didn't attach my entire identity to how well I did in school. The wheels didn't fall off the wagon for me until I failed Art History. It wasn't my boyfriend cheating on me. It wasn't my high school sweetheart not taking me back after I dumped him. It wasn't sleeping with half the fraternity. It wasn't even getting pregnant. Nope. It was that big F. That stupid letter did me in.

I did go back to school about five years ago and took Art History over again. That F was replace by an A, but I haven't replaced my life's F with anything. I think about how I wasted my big, fat brain and how I didn't ever finish college and how I have no real skills or income potential. I can wait tables. I can run the front desk of a medical office. I can take care of kids. I can type. I can ask if you want that super-sized. That stuff doesn't even earn me enough to make my house payment, much less everything else. I'm as dependent as I ever was living under my parents' roof.

Last week, our marriage counselor asked about my plans for getting a job and going to school. I said I didn't plan on doing anything until the kids were back in school. She asked John what he thought, and he said he expected me to have a job by October. This was news to me. He likes to bring things up in there that he never mentions at home, and it always makes me angry. The counselor asked if I knew of his expecations, and I told her that I hadn't. John and I talked about what I planned to do, and he agreed that it was OK for me to go to school in the fall. There was no mention of having a job. So not only was I angry that he sprung the news on me in therapy, but he also changed the plan.

I don't like being pushed, and it's taken me a long time to feel ready to do anything at all. Now that I finally have a plan in place, he wants to change it on me. It just makes me feel incredibly stubborn and prickly. There is no better way to make me rebel than to push me. If I ask for a push, that's one thing. If you push me without warning, I will dig in for war. I'm doing my best not to get pig-headed about it this time, but he and I still need to talk.

I need to make my own decisions. I've already been unhappy long enough. I don't want to be forced into even more unhappiness by doing things I don't want to do. I don't like expectations. I'm ready to make my own life now, and I don't want to be told which way that is going to go. That might seem a little defiant, but I think I need to be after living up to other people's standards for so long.