Genetics.

I am slowly coming to the realization that, like it or not, I am pretty much destined to have the Swarthout family hips.

Curse genetics.

Proud.

I love my sisters.

Chris met them for the first time last night, when he came to my dad’s house for dinner.  “It’s like they have no filters at all,” he said, in describing them.  I’d never think to phrase it like that, but that’s a very accurate way to paint Sarah and Racheal. They are who they are, and they express themselves pretty openly.  This may mean cursing, telling crude jokes, engaging in flamboyant, public displays of affection with their significant others, etc., but to blazes with anyone who doesn’t like any of that.  While I may not necessarily approve of their language or behavior, I love that my sisters refuse to apologize for who they are.

They are beautiful, confident women, whom are coming into their own.  And I am so proud of them, and proud to be their sister.

Running.

I hate the way that this feeling of not being good enough seems to follow me around.  At the moment, I’m feeling particularly frustrated about it, because I felt like I’d finally started to get a handle on the lie.  I’d started to see it as being that.  As being a lie, I mean.  And now the feelings and fears have popped up in another area. 

It makes me want to curse.  Or spit.  Or both. 

I ran this weekend.  That stupid, panicky feeling, which I hate so much, crept up on me.  I gave in to it, and had to get away.  Rachel say’s it’s a good thing that I gave in and ran, because staying might have meant doing something even more stupid.  But I’m having trouble seeing it that way.

I don’t want this to be an issue forever.  And I’m tired of believing lies.

A Good Movie

This may seem silly, but sometimes I wonder what my life would look like as a movie.  I imagine an invisible third person viewing my everyday actions, following me around and silently observing me.  On some levels, I wonder if this might be narcissistic or self-obsessive, but I honestly really just think I’m overly imaginative.  No worries, though; I’m not coming up with my own theme music, or anything like that. 

The scenes now are quiet ones, and have been especially so during these last few days.  Everyone at home is away on vacation, and so I have the house to myself for the next week.  Skipping in and out of my life, the scenes show me doing things like singing in the shower, taking out the trash, and unloading the dishwasher.  I let the dog out in the morning, make myself coffee, and go to work.  In the evenings, I have friends over for dinner, or eat on my own.  I wash the windows and do my laundry.  At night, I watch dramatic, older movies on the couch.  I share my popcorn with the dog.  The scenes show me talking on the telephone with my mother, or going out with friends.

My life is unremarkable right now.  Blissfully simple.  I am completely content.  It’s sort of like that feeling you get when you lie in the sunshine – everything is warm and comfortable, and so practically perfect that you don’t want to move.  You feel like you could just stay there, smiling softly and with your eyes shut, forever. 

The problems and issues that were there are still there, and new one are still coming up.  But they all seem so much smaller and less overwhelming now.  Things that would previously have made me feel tense and anxious no longer do, to a certain extent.  I’m not certain what’s changed.  Maybe I’ve changed.

I like this.  I like this feeling.

This is a good movie.  I have a good life.

…the ceiling’s going to continue to drip.

The ceiling leaks, in the office building that I work in.  There’s a row of ceiling tiles which is consistently stained with water damage.  Maintenance workers replace the tiles with new ones on a regular basis, every few months or so.  Whenever it rains, however, the water seeps through again, and the stains reappear on the ceiling.  A few times, the ceiling has literally dripped water, and we’ve had to line the hallway with buckets and waste baskets to catch the leaks.  The office looks like an obstacle course.  It’s very professional looking.

The problem is that there’s a leaking pipe, above the ceiling tiles.  Heavy rains or snow cause the pipe to leak excessively, which makes signs of water damage appear on the tiles below it.  Regardless of how many times the maintenance guys come and change the ceiling tiles, the ceiling’s going to continue to drip.  The ceiling tiles aren’t the problem; the leaky pipe is.

In so many people’s lives, this is what happens.  This is what happens in my own life, too.  There are all these behaviors, thoughts, actions, issues, etc. that we don’t like within ourselves, and we try to get rid of them with quick fixes and temporary changes.  Nothing really changes, however, because we’re not getting at the actual cause of the behaviors, thoughts, actions, issues, etc. that we don’t like.  We’re concentrating on simply changing the ceiling tiles when we should be working on repairing the pipe.

Always.

Robin: “How old is he?”

Me: “He’s 27.”

Robin: [frowns slightly] “I suppose that’s okay.  How old are you, now?”

Me: [smiles] “I’m 22, Robin.”

Robin: [sighs] “I still think of you as being 12.”

Me: [continues to smile] “And you will probably always think of me as  being 12, even years from now, when I am your nurse and taking care of you.”

Robin: [laughs] “You’re right.  And I’ll still tell you what to do.”

Me: “And I will still ignore you.”

Robin: “Just promise not to put me in a psych ward, okay?”

 

Sometimes, when I stop to think about all the wonderful people God has put into my life, I feel so blessed that it makes me want to cry.

Ode to Joyce

10 Reasons why I Love my Therapist (because I complain about her often enough…)

1.  Sessions are not limited to her office.  When the weather’s nice, we’ll go walking together.  Once, we went out for smoothies.  Before the summer’s ended, she’s promised that we can go to the beach – and this was her idea, not mine, which makes it even cooler.

2.  She lets me swear in her office.  Occasionally, she swears with me.  I like that.

3.  She never gets annoyed with me if I don’t do the homework assignments she gives me (and there’ve been some pretty weird ones).  Along the same lines, she never gives me homework assignments that she doesn’t think I’m ready for or that I flat-out don’t want to do. 

4.  She picks on me.  I pick on her.  We laugh a lot, and I like this because it balances out all the serious things we talk about.  She likes to laugh, and I like her because she laughs, and because she forces me to not take things so seriously.

5.  She says she’s pleased with me, and says it frequently.  Apparently, therapists are not supposed to tell their clients that they’re proud of them, because it encourages maternal feelings toward their patients, or some junk like that.  So she cheats and says she’s pleased with me, instead.

6.  When she says/does things that are out of line (which has only happened once or twice) she apologizes and says that she was out of line.  Which I think is awfully cool.

7.  She’s not a hypocrite.  All the things that she wants for me to be – assertive, confident, comfortable with myself, etc. – she also is for herself.  She’s a great role model.

8.  She’s blunt.  If she thinks I’m feeding her a line of bolonga, she’ll call me on it.  It’s as simple as that.

9.  She’s sarcastic, but not nasty-like sarcastic.  I have a thing for sarcasm and dry humor.

10.  She’s anal as all get-out.  To the point where she should probably be diagnosed with obsessive personality disorder, which she will readily admit to.  She admits a lot of things about herself, and yet still manages to maintain client/professional boundaries, which is admirable.

Did I mention that she’s going to take me to the beach?

Defiant.

A sign appeared in the women’s bathroom at work a few months ago, and was displayed prominently on the paper towel dispenser.  “Why take two when one will work?” the sign questioned.  It was an attempt to cut down on the number of paper towel used by the ladies frequenting the restroom.  Go Green, and all of that.

Now I am all for being environmentally friendly.  I try not to waste electricity or water, I’m a huge believer in recycling, and chew my sisters out on a semi-regular basis for littering.  But I hate that sign.  At twenty-two years old, I’ve finally realized that I cannot stand being told what to do.  Every time I read that sign, I am tempted to use six paper towels, as opposed to my typical two, simply out of spite.

Two days ago, I threw the sign out.

On Monday, I was in a particularly pissy mood.  I ripped the laminated paper sign off the paper towel dispenser and tossed it in the waste basket.  A co-worker, washing her hands at the sink next to me, looked at me a little questionably.  I shrugged; “I hate that sign,” I explained.  My co-worker laughed, and confessed that she hated it as well, for reasons similar to my own.  Later in the afternoon, she walked by my cubicle and gleefully whispered that she’d just used the last two paper towels in the dispenser.  I giggled, and we high-fived one another.  It was slightly ridiculous, but highly meaningful.  I felt a little defiant.

Telling this story to a friend yesterday, she laughed at me, and then said she was rather pleased.  “Three months ago, you would never have done that.  In fact, you might have actually even cut down to using one paper towel, just to be obedient.”

Cool.

A minor victory.

Amusing.

What follows is a portion of an email, written to me by my friend, Becky, in regards to a certain guy who asked her out last weekend.

I find the whole thing extremely amusing.

He has officially asked me out twice, I think. Three times really if you count Friday night. Twice via text message. Once I ignored (I was in bed!) and the second one I sent “lets make it through the week first.” He is trying so hard.  Should I appease him and get my free dinner, movie, coffee etc. out of it?  What do I have to loose? It would be one night where I didn’t have to sit at home with my parents, watching the Discovery Channel.  Would it be worse than watching the silly ”loggers” cut down trees for the umpteenth time? You know him. I haven’t “dated” in like 5 years… That’s a lie- I have attracted one guy with literally half a brain (free ice cream though), Creepo (again, free ice cream and dinner at some snazzy Italian restaurant for my b-day), and one annoying dude that called me “Beckster” the whole time (free hot chocolate).  And, I only went out with all of these boys because, in the pit of my stomach, I feel guilty if I don’t give everyone an even shot…. What if these seemingly useless boys are placed before me to lead me to the right person?  If I don’t test them all out on at least one date then I end up falling off my path and end up lonely for the rest of my life. WHAT IF I BECOME A CAT LADY?!?!?!

Failure.

”I will always be remembered for my biggest failure.”

That’s a line from Night at the Museum 2, which I saw with my family over the weekend, said by Col. Custer.  It’s the only line I remember from the whole movie.  The Colonel makes this statement in reference to his involvement in the Battle of Little Big Horn, and tries to use it as an excuse to avoid joining in a fight against the film’s villains.

I left the theater on Friday night thinking about how often I (used to) feel defined by my failures.  No matter how much good I did, or how well I performed, it was never enough to cover up the smudge made by mistakes.   That’s not a fun way to feel, and I’m glad I’ve slowly started to step away from that line of thinking.  

It’s sort of hard to feel much hope if you keep thinking that way.