You know what I’d like to be doing right now? I’d like to be sitting in my Uncle Bri’s cabin at the lake, with a roaring fire in the fireplace and my feet propped up in front of it.
I’d like to be contemplating S’mores and going for a walk.
I’d like to smell that warm cigaretty smell, mixed with cheap beer and I’d like to shut my eyes and fall into a short nap to the sounds of the men playing cribbage.
Of course, you can’t go to the cabin of a dead man, so, there you go. Sometimes, the shit you need is just not going to come.
Last night, I was sitting over in east Nashville talking with some of the women involved in my summer project and one of them was talking about how she’d been told once that she just needs to start being the leader she’s looking for.
My grandma (oh, a post full of ghosts this afternoon) said something similar to me back in high school–be the friend you wish you had.
I mention all this because I did something yesterday I’m still cringing about. I was corresponding with one of y’all and I actually wrote: “I mean, you get that I’m a socially awkward marshmallowy woman who rarely leaves her house, right? I really do worry that when you meet me you’ll be disappointed that you’ve wasted so much effort befriending such an ordinary girl.”
I know, seriously, what the fuck is that? You’d think I was negotiating one of those traditional marriages where a man agrees to take another man’s exceedingly ugly daughter as his fourth wife if he can get access to the stream running through the father’s land and seventeen cows and a good dog.
Let’s just overlook the fact that I don’t have enough time to negotiate elaborate deals with each and every one of you–“If you’re willing to over look the fact that I’m hideous and unlovable, I’ll entertain you. And you, if you’re willing to overlook the self-righteousness, I’ll provide you with touching tales about my brother”–if I heard one of my friends spouting that nonsense, I’d kick her ass.
Why can’t I hold myself to the same standards of behavior I expect from everyone else?
Clearly, I can and must start, because this bullshit is bringing me down. I’ve got my small chunk of happiness, and we’re going to start fucking nurturing it.
Hey wait! I can get cows and a good dog? I shall divorce my present wife immediately!
Most people worry that they will disappoint in person when they have charmed from behind a facade.
The fear of falling short of expectations is one of the hallmarks of high standards.
I’m being talked into running for a town office as a write-in candidate. Whatever strengths I may bring to the actual job, I know for damn sure I’m no campaigner. Is this performance anxiety season? I love the smell of personal insecurity in the morning!