I woke up this morning and promptly fell apart.
It all began (don’t you loathe stories that begin with that odious phrase?) with my morning cleaning routine. Yes, you read correctly. Cleaning routine. I actually have a list (imagine that) taped on the fridge with each day of the week and what should be cleaned that day. Kind of like a McDonald’s checklist hanging on the bathroom doors, with a list of duties that are timestamped and initialed by the unlucky worker who had to perform those tasks (toilet and tub have been scrubbed, baseboards wiped down, cosmetics table reorganized, mirrors polished, rugs washed and dried at 8:47 a.m. by A.O.).
So I was working on my kitchen and an hour later, after scrubbing the stove, wiping down the cabinets, washing dishes, hand scrubbing the floor, and starting a pot of coffee, I thought I’d end my kitchen routine with a load of laundry. Mainly rugs from the kitchen and bathroom floors, a few pillowcases perhaps. I popped the dirty rugs into my Speed Queen washer and walked away to the living room, to plan a new cleaning schedule with some additions to the existing tasks and a reorganization of days to clean. (Yes, I’m anal, but not in the way that guys like, so that means I’m just single and really, really tidy…).
As I began my list of additions (clean ceiling fans weekly, scrub baseboards around the house weekly, move washer and dryer and fridge from their normal homes to dust and mop underneath the appliances bi-weekly, etc.) I also began to get a bit panicky. I really don’t know how people have a clean home and a full time job. Seriously. Do they all have maids? I basically have two full time jobs, plus my writing which I don’t get paid for, that takes up most of my time. As I looked at my schedule and wondered how in the hell I was going to pull this off when the fall semester started and I went back to work, I heard the sound of running water. Well, more like pouring water. Like rapids of water. In the kitchen.
I knew immediately what had happened.
When I moved into this house, this lovely quaint home in an old historic neighborhood, I didn’t have a washer or dryer; I did my clothes at the laundromat. For about three months. Because it sucked. I finally went to the local Taylor’s and bought a washer and dryer, brand new. The Speed Queen, recommended because it is so powerful. So powerful that when they installed it in my home, I figured out that the spin cycle, which throws the water off, is too strong for the plumbing int his house. So every time the washer hits spin cycle, I have to go in the kitchen, keep an eye on the sink, and when the sink starts filling with water due to the backlog of water being thrown into the pipes by the washer, I have to raise the lid of the washer, stop the cycle, let all the water drain back down into the sink, and then close the lid to start the cycle again. If I do not do this, the sink overflows and gallons of water pool up on the kitchen floor. And of course, any food in the pipes from the night before gets deposited on the floor, as well.
So I walked into my kitchen and stepped in dirty washer water and old rice from the last night’s dinner. And, to top it off, my house is slightly slanted so the water all had all rushed to the opposite side of the kitchen and pooled under the fridge and stove.
What did I do? I cleaned it up, of course. And bawled the entire time.
It just doesn’t seem fair. Yeah, I know life isn’t fair. I know that everyone gets equal doses of unfairness in life. But, as the pig in Animal Farm noted, some animals are more equal than others, so I assume that some people get more equal shares of shitty hands in the game of life than others.
I cried and asked myself, and God, why oh why do I have to suffer through this? I simply can’t do this alone. What is βthis,β you ask?
My fucking life.
I am spending hours a day perfecting my lawn, perfecting my home, researching to finish my second M.A. thesis, reading new pedagogy books to stay abreast of writing techniques that I can bring into my classroom, reading new fiction to stay abreast of the competitive writing market I’m trying to enter, growing fresh herbs so I can learn fancy new recipes, making fucking apricot jam to give out to family and friends, trading BPAL on the forum, doing yoga and walking and toning to perfect my body, touching up my roots and making sure I have weekly pedis and facials (all done at home, of course) to perfect my looks…I have not even begun to list everything written in my daily planner.
And all for what? Why I am so obsessed with perfection? Why am I working so hard to achieve everything and be the best at everything, even stupid shit like having a clean home and being Betty Crocker in my free time?
I am obviously laboring under the delusion that being perfect will somehow buy me love from someone. A permanent, unconditional love. That elusive feeling and state of life that we all read about, see on TV, and some of us are lucky enough to actually witness it in real life, maybe in friends or family members. Maybe, just maybe, some of you actually have it in your own life.
It is very difficult and painful to know that you are a disappointment. And I am. I am not playing the sympathy card or seeking pity; I’m simply stating the facts.
I am my mother’s greatest disappointment. I figured this out long ago, in my teens, when my personality and convictions actually began to arise and show themselves. My mom loves me, don’t get me wrong. But she doesn’t necessarily like me. If we were to simply meet on the street, she wouldn’t be friends with me.
I’m not like her. She doesn’t like that. I’m a lot like my dad. She doesn’t like that. She loves my dad, but she doesn’t really like him, you know?And she feels the same about me. She would never admit it, and she’ll probably not talk to me for quite a while when she reads this. But I only speak truth.
Like many people, I tried to find love and acceptance outside of a family who really didn’t offer it. And, I failed at that, as well. You will read more of that story in the Benzo Chronicles, but suffice it to say that I couldn’t even get an unemployed, dirty, ambitious-less, and lazy man to like me, not to mention love me. It sucks that it took fifteen years for me to figure that out, but that’s just a testament to my dogged determination…I tried really hard, as with everything in my life, to be a success with him. But I totally and utterly failed.
I can only surmise that my need to be the best at everything I can be, whether it is teaching or housekeeping or writing or whatever…I can only surmise that it is my feeble attempt to find a way to validate myself. Most people get their sense of security and meaning in life from their loved ones; they are here for a reason, you know? They are important to someone, somebody, somewhere.
I want to be important to someone, too. But until then, I’m just going to back to the kitchen and raise the lid on the washer. I can hear the water hitting the floor again.
Sigh. FML.
Oh A.O., your life is even more glamorous than you could ever see through your own eyes…You are a master of all trades! You have the most honorable job in the world! A teacher! And you did it for (how many schools last year? 2 and 2 online?)…Anyway what better profession than to teach, just like Jesus! And who better a role model to follow. And through your writing you are doing the same, teaching. You touch your students in ways you will never know, and they will never speak of. Whether you have felt a disappointment to your family, it’s also important to remember that sometimes, you find family outside of your gene pool. People who have meant more to you than family ever could. Everyone has family of the sort (and everyone has family they’d rather not claim). Everyone has unrealistic expectations of themselves as well. I used to struggle with my ocd with housework too…And everything you mentioned sounded very familiar…your lists, your daily chores, the crying about home-ownership issues, I mean, all too familiar. You just have to give yourself a break sometimes. I mean, you are struggling with your own feelings of self-doubt; you are an over-achiever, people-pleaser, you want to be the best at everything. There’s nothing wrong with that, but do you ever allow yourself to just sit and do nothing? I used to not, but it is so therapeutic. It was hard at first. I have to feel accomplished in my day, like you. But when you just stop giving a fuck about pleasing everyone around you, making sure your lists are completed (on time, lol), making home-made gifts for friends and family, it is a liberating feeling. To be rid of the responsibility for awhile. And you don’t have to do it all the time, just when you feel you need a break (which is probably about once a week). I had that problem a lot in the past with gift-giving, and trust me, it only leads to disappointment in your friends when they don’t reciprocate. You feel like you’ve gone through so much to do something meaningful, heart-felt, for them, and they return the favor with….a .50 card from the dollar tree (for example). Just remember that, whether you feel like a tiny blip on this radar we call Earth, you mean a lot to many people you probably will never know about. You are an inspiration to so many. Never forget your worth and don’t let your self-pity get to you, it’s too easy, but your value surpasses most I know! You are an amazing woman! Never forget that.
Oh Tammy I loved loved loved coming back to read this π You always listened to me when I needed to vent and you always picked up my mood with your optimism and understanding.
And I must say, I just laugh so hard when I read about me touching my students…too much LOL.
My dear, you are forgetting several things. First of all, you are loved and respected very much and have been told, not least of all by yours truly, on numerous occasions. Second, you have much the same condition I do. Somewhere around the time that you realized you had to do everything because no one else was going to, you lost your ability to do something that you simply felt like doing. Every minute of every one of your days is planned to the teeth, and when something doesn’t work out as perfectly as it was planned, it’s a mini-meltdown. Don’t get me wrong, there are certainly things that have to be done, i.e. paying bills, washing dogs, etc., but there are also things that don’t have to get done. At least not right then. Do yourself a favor – rip a page out of your planner. Apologize to your friends in advance that you may not make whatever friendly appointments you may have for that day, but you need a day off. Wander around the house naked, drive to Vega, stand in the middle of your yard and yell at the sky. Just tear that little piece of paper to shreds, and with it, a little piece of the control it has over your life.
I shouldn’t really be talking, I do much the same thing.
But really, remember…. you are loved and important. To one weird girl with too many cats, at any rate.
I took your advice and threw my entire planner away this year…the year that not a single fuck was given. I know it may not seem like it, but it was the best thing I could ever have done.
Doubt I’m buying a 2012 planner this time around.
Ed Here π
First, I would like to say I love the blog! It’s beautiful and sincere and I’m honored by the trust you have given us readers, as you are putting your soul out there.
I completely understand about what you mean when you say your mom loves you but doesn’t like you. My father is the same way: When I entered my teens, I found my love of philosophy, pedagogy and thinking. This was unacceptable to my father. He always called me the family “intellectual” (with that unforgettable tone of scorn) and no matter what I do, I’m always different. He’ll always help me in a jam, but you always feel “outside”. It’s frustrating as hell and it can make you feel useless over time because that kind of separation makes you feel sub-human. And that feeling over time can turn into a feeling of uselessness. It’s a vicious cycle, I know since I got in on both sides (you may remember my mom was a rather hardcore alcoholic).
There’s this concept I came up with called “moral proximity”. You see, people like you and me think deeply, live deeply, and feel deeply. I had one of my previous mentor’s tell me that was my curse because I always wanted people to love things as much as I did (but they aren’t always capable). Anyways, moral proximity is basically having people in your life who feel and think the way you do. In our family, it’s a crap shoot: the lucky ones have mothers and fathers that do, and the unlucky ones (me, me!) feel ostracized from day one because we don’t grow up with people that believe or think as we do.
It’s insanely important to find at least one person that loves the esoteric stuff that you do. In my case, that would be a mix of anime, video games, nonfiction books (fromm, chesterton and freire to name a few) and deep thinking. I’ve found that if we can’t find anyone else like ourselves, even if we KNOW what we think is valid (beyond a doubt!), we grow to doubt ourselves if we are alone.
I don’t think you always do your best simply for validation. I think it’s who you ARE. Each of the things we do are part of the sum of what we are, and you simply want that to be something you are truly proud of. In the deepest level, you are being sincere with yourself. And I think that is awesome. To me, that’s beautiful.
I also know saying these words won’t make the frustration go away. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my short life, it’s that words are easy and feelings are hard π So, I hope you can find some peace in yourself π
Because I think you deserve it!
Thank you so much for the opening comment; I want my words to convey exactly that: honesty and sincerity. It’s important for me to reach out to a wide audience, but at the same time I love having people who really know me comment on the voice in the writing because I want it to be my voice…I want to really be heard.
I like that phrase…moral proximity. Since the death of my dad I’ve done a lot of cleaning house and I’ve cut ties with people who aren’t sharing my feelings. And this goes way beyond opinions; it’s about lifestyle and values, and I can no longer have people in my life who aren’t on the same team as me, even if I don’t know the rules of the game yet. Life is short; we have to spend it with people that bring out the best in us and allow us to cultivate our individuality.
The scorn in your dad’s voice? My mom has it for me all the time. “You’re just like your dad.” Not a compliment in my house; my dad and your mom had substance abuse issues which of course lead to other issues…it was hard growing up. You know this.
I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for someone I am not. And for years that’s what I did: I cultivated a personality and lifestyle to keep my loved ones around me. What a waste, for everyone involved.
I think artists feel the world differently than other people. Deeper. With more empathy. It’s a hard burden to carry, but I relish it all the same.
I’m looking for peace…I will find it, somehow. And you will, too.