750 Words A Day Project: Day 1 – Normal

i’m the one who made the kitchen smell like garlic and now i smell like garlic and there is no turning back. i’m currently moving pieces of unmasticated garlic paratha out of my molars with my tongue and washing it all down with lukewarm green tea. i skipped coffee this morning in the attempts to feel…normal.

i don’t know exactly what this idea of normal is and what’s appealing about it. during class practice saturday i told my partner that i often wished i was 4 inches taller. he asked why and i struggled to answer. he asked, what would change if i was 4 inches taller. i wanted to dramatically answer, “Everything!” but i knew in my heart of hearts that wasn’t true. nothing important would change with maybe the exception the extra inches would even out the belly a little bit. so i answered, “maybe i would be a bit more normal.”

“don’t say that,” he responded.

“i know,” i said. “i don’t know what i mean.”

i don’t. i have these ideas in my brain of what i think i want and it’s never clear or concrete and it’s always changing. i’m reminded of past ideas of what i thought i had wanted through some of the spam i get. or some of the random phone calls i receive from 1-800 numbers that i never answer. at some point last year i had thought i wanted to be better in my work field so i filled out a form for more information on a supply chain management program at a local university. their sales department still calls me almost a year later. they don’t leave voicemails. i googled the phone # and discovered it was the school. i don’t ever answer 1-800 calls. i don’t know anyone who does.

i get emails from CIIS for both the somatic psychology and the writing master’s programs because i requested brochures for those programs as well. they tell me about their open houses and their upcoming events. i entertain the idea and then i shut it down because with my current schedule i can’t even get to a yoga class much less a meet and greet for a program i can’t afford. i don’t know what i want to be when i grow up and it bothers me because I’M GROWN UP.

i need to cut myself some slack. i’m not the only person in the world trying to figure this shit out. i know this. i’m harder on myself than on anyone else thought because i can be, because somehow i’m supposed to be held to a higher standard. i don’t know where this comes from but in all seriousness, i need to find a way to be kinder to myself because this kind of harsh behavior is really doing a number on my anxiety.

sampson noted last week, “It’s like the little girl who drops her ice cream cone. You know, when she drops the cone and starts crying who says, “get over it?” to her. How awful. You don’t say “get over it” to someone upset like that. You want to comfort them, tell them its going to be ok.”

learning how to be gentle to that part of me that makes mistakes, that doesn’t know, that’s confused or feeling bad or dumb or not enough is really difficult. i can be gentle with others who are feeling this way but i cannot do this for myself and the only reason i can think of is that on a very base level i may not really like myself much to be this harsh to myself.

gah. i don’t know.

now someone has made something else in the kitchen and it smells like vinegar and maybe orange juice? so strange. i don’t feel so bad about the garlic smell now. at least my lunch smelled good. and now that i’ve consumed the last little bit of my garlic paratha my mouth smells good. errr, maybe.

this morning was difficult. i snoozed once before untangling myself to slop on some sloppy “it’s motherfucking monday and i don’t give two shits.” clothes and kissed the dr.  on my way out the door.

whenever i look at him in the mornings before i take off, before the sun comes up, i always think to myself, ” at least i’m doing one thing right.”

this one thing makes the whole boatload of things that are wrong much easier to deal with.

***

do it.  you know you want to:

http://750words.com

I’m going to post some of my daily writing here afterwards if it isn’t too gorey or horrifically personal.

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