I’m a perfectionist. It’s a quality that comes with both good and bad aspects. On the one hand, I do my job and I do it well, no matter what. On the other hand, anytime I fall behind for reasons out of my control, I beat myself up for it. I can be moody, on the inside of course–because being anything other than personable to everyone is unacceptable–and being moody on the inside sucks. Because as much as you hate people who shove their emotions and bad attitudes on you (otherwise known as “bitchy” people), let’s face it: if you don’t get those feelings out, they don’t go away, they just make you crazy.
So being a perfectionist makes me a little crazy, and the worse part is that the only way to deal with being a little less crazy is by becoming more of a perfectionist and figuring out ways to solve whatever issue is making you crazy. Double-edged sword, Hamster Wheel, Bottomless Pit of Hell–whatever you want to call it, being a perfectionist makes for a rough life.
So now that you know this about me, I’m sure you can understand how crazy it makes me that I can’t seem to hear what people are saying when they call me on my phone at work. It’s starting to make me doubt my hearing. Should I go to a doctor? Is it my phone? Is it a little bit of both? If yes to the first question and last question, then where should I go for an appointment? A Primary Care Doc? An Audiologist? I don’t even have a doctor out here in LA yet. Where should I go for that? And if it’s not me, how do I fix my phone? Or, how do I make sure to get people’s names right without asking them a thousand times, or spending five minutes having them spell their name for me? Guys, I just want to be a writer. Can’t we all go home now, and I’ll e-mail you later?
There’s a lot of great and exciting things that come with being an adult out of college. You finally get your own apartment (probably with roommates, but hey, at least you can buy alcohol and have friends over now). You get a paycheck that (hopefully!) amounts to more than covering the cost of a weekend of Taco Bell dinners. You get to call more of the shots on what you do with your life, and when you do it. It’s amazing.
But then your body starts getting old, even though you’re only in your 20’s and you start wondering what the hell is wrong? And pretty soon you have to find a dentist, and a doctor, and you’re paying a monthly gym membership fee because you realize that pizza and wine for dinner every night of the week probably has something to do with why you feel like crap all the time and you have to buy bigger pairs of jeans. You guys, adulthood is not fun. Adulthood is a freaking nightmare.
Adulthood is forcing yourself to do all of those things you avoided as a kid, like calling strangers, doing the dishes, going to the doctor, doing your laundry, planning trips, and making your bed, because it’s something that has to be done, and no one else is going to do it. Adulthood is being bored and being too tired to do anything about it. Adulthood is knowing there are all these problems in the world, and knowing how small you are because you’ll never be able to fix all of them.
Maybe the reason we call it “Adulthood” is because being an adult is almost as tough as living in the “hood”–metaphorically speaking. Or maybe that’s way too much of a stretch. I don’t know, but either way, all I want to do is take a nap.