Recently, I was perturbed at work about the way my overzealous supervisor was behaving. It was a legitimate perturbation (perturbance is not a word, it should be) but today, in a larger discussion, it was brought to my attention again that I’m a little bit hard on myself. There are some ways that this affects my perspective on things and I am always working on taking in others’ feedback through my oversensitive filter.
The thing is, I’m very competent at my job. I know that, I feel that, and everyone at works validates that. And so, why is the idea of making a mistake so threatening to my sense of self. Because it is. Logically, I know that I’m not perfect and don’t need to be. My impulse somehow, my tiny inner aggressive instinct, is to believe that it’s all or nothing. I’m the best or the worst. And I think I’m the best more often than not so then I think, yeah, I’m someone with good self esteem. I’m the best at self esteem!
Heh. I actually think I have a good sense of what I’m good at and not so good at. I’m just competing with this emotional, irrational, and insidious other…thing. The trance of unworthiness in mindfulness speak. Sometimes I’m not even aware of it, but it’s there. Enough that a caring and insightful person could tell me that she thinks there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m good enough and be right.
My supervisor was still being a dick.
Hamlet has obtained fleas. It’s very unfortunate and frustrating because he is an indoor cat. Also because, gross.
I’m working a short week this week because of the holiday. It has been pretty incredibly sucky. Apparently, it is a bad idea for me to use my vacation time. Or, it’s a good idea if I enjoy returning to do a bunch of shit that other people should have been able to handle in my absence in addition to the regular shit I do, which is too much for one person on its own. Oh but don’t worry, I’m paid very little.
Despite those two issues (three including being slightly poor), I’m so fucking happy right now. I’m like IN TROUBLE in regard to this new fellow because I am 1) very smitten and 2) very anxious about being this vulnerable. I would say I’m experiencing 90% glee and excitement and 10% terror. It’s so new and maybe that’s why it’s fun.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been so excited about somebody this soon. That is a lie. I definitely have not been this excited about somebody this soon. I want to just see him and cuddle him and cook dinner for him and learn how to knit and make him a sweater. [Forget fleas, I’m gross.]
So fuck. That is scary. But I’m going to be fine no matter what. I have the rest of my life together in an unprecedented way. In reality being open to this person is not brave, it is just what people do, but I feel brave.
If I am dating someone and am not advised of a reason (of which there are many potential and legitimate) for their apparent disinterest, I will be forced (for the sake of my sanity and perseverance) to conclude that the man in question suffers from micropenis and did not feel comfortable enough to disclose it.
This is the healthiest plan for everyone, as far as I can see.