Oh, ineptitude.

Amazing how everything falls apart for a bit after a move.

While the re-rhythming is still working itself out, and the rebuilding segment of our story’s still under way, the impromptu and unintended hiatus is over. We can slap a big red FAIL sticker on my forehead, and move forward in hopes of doing better.

I can’t tell you how, but this month’s managed to pick up the skillful and impressive ability of being both very long, and very quick. With my move, my family’s move (Equally amazing the level of crap you can accumulate after thirteen years living in one spot, isn’t it?), and weeks’s worth of medical angst out of the way, I can get the ball rolling again.

For starters, that has to mean less dropping of said ball. There’s nothing more cringeworthy to the token perfectionist than lack of follow through. And when you’re capable of employing both mindsets (The Nutty Perfectionist and The Flakey Biscuit), often in the same breath, it can wreak havoc with your confidence. You’re kicking yourself while trying desperately to flee from your own foot, and the responsibility it demands you take.

Philosophers I read in the feminism class said it had something to do with women’s unconscious and ingrained certainty that no matter what, she’s going to fail. Naturally, men, this one would be on you too. Just in case you were wondering if you’d dodged this bullet.

I don’t necessarily agree with that; there’re too many women out there accomplishing way too much for it to hold, and there’s more achievements stacking up every day. There’s a lot of reasons for someone to take that step back, let something slip, and all those other phrases that indicate this particular kind of screw up.

But to me, it seems to fall into two categories; laziness, or anxiety. Sometimes the two can mix, and in my case I can say with the utmost certainty that they often do. But as I’ve said, I also have a certain propensity for teetering on the fringes until I slide right off, so I lean towards the latter slot way too often. Or, as I tend to call it when I’m kicking my own ass, being a pansy.

This leads to my looking like an unreliable (A title you may be throwing in my direction right now, even!) shadowy loner, and that’s not really the type of person people flock to, professionally or socially.

In this case, it’s not worth being as intense as all that. But it all stacks up in the end. So it’s time to put on my big girl pants, and get down to it. I woke up early this morning and got a little writing out of the way, did some baking (which is not helping keep the weight off), and have now breathed a little life back into this thing.

My ass is bruised, my foot is sore and about ready to snap off, but hopefully it makes some kind of difference. Naturally, it’ll be slow going to that point where I can even begin to tell.

It makes sense, though. When you’re a long time addict, I don’t think  de-flaking is supposed to be easy.


~ by Sara on January 24, 2012.

2 Responses to “Oh, ineptitude.”

  1. I love the way you describe yourself. I read your rants, or streams of consciousness, and I think to myself, wow, she could be talking about me. Except that I don’t write like this, and I would never have been able to explain myself if I hadn’t seen it written here. I, who has been out of the creative-writing game too long, and haven’t read enough, have a lot to learn!

  2. It’s always good to know it’s not just you isn’t it? And I just talk, I promise I’ve got no real tricks up my sleeve, save for the writing blogs I’ve been diving in and out of these days. You should try seeing what you could whip up sometime, it could prove fun.

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