lessons I am learning of myself

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 I am a perfectionist.*

*Never ever in this girls wildest dreams would that ever be. But it is frighteningly valid; I have a system and a schedule, an itinerary that serves as security blanket of confidence; assurance that I’ve got this– I can keep afloat in the hurtling sea of college and to-do’s and a social and family life, while managing to reserve time for food and sleep and some time with my nose stuck comfortably in a book. It is the only way to maintain equipoise. When happenstance alters that plan, anxiety infects my head and my heart then catches it. The balance I have so carefully made, placing feathers on one side or the other to keep the scale in balance. Panic and frustration wells within me, and I am caught up in the plunging current. This monsoon obstructs oppurtunities to work later, and it all surges at me at the end of the week. The windstorm of hysteria evolves into typhoon. I am a frenzy of fear and not-quite-rightness. I know that all of that tensional emotional energy is wholly unecessary and avoidable. I make my best attempts to keep a calm composure and know that my initial way is not the only way; an auxiliary plan can be made. But sometimes, I listen to that devilish voice of dubiety, despite myself.

I am the resident over-feeler of my family.*

*My emotional, hormonal self can become entangled in briery bushes of anxiety and fear and frustration and that sort of sadness singular to a lady when Aunt Flo comes to visit, all of which often results in weeps and sobs. This is not outweighed by  the blessings gained by having this sensetive soul (a compassionate heart, empathic mind, and a deep nostalgia for things before and things that have not yet been). Thorns snag at threads of skin and catch on my sweater and tights, pulling out lengths of yarn and bits of flesh and drawing out long runs in the nylons, most frequently when I try to thrash my way out of that shrub. So I breathe deep a pray heavenward, and sit quietly, unhooking barbs from fabric and the knotted mess of my hair. When I am free from all those grapnels, I step out onto the uncluttered ground and walk on.


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