Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Perfection

Indeed, that is what the US of A is all about. The pursuit of perfection, and never quite getting there. It is very much in the water and air of this country. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have picked up this bug, this incessant voice inside me that keeps goading me to be perfect in everything I do. And when I don’t match up (I’m already Superwoman, but still I fall short) the guilt and recriminations are endless.

Every day, I strive to be really perfect at my work. I expect myself to work hard and produce excellent content. I want to be able to write excellently, create well, and all in all, basically be perfect at my job. Yes, I know there is a learning curve, and I will take time, but still, I am driven to be really good. Anything less, and my internal voice keeps saying I need to do better. Work harder. And maybe get back to work instead of writing this blog post!

Every day, I strive to be the perfect human being. One who never gets emotional, has crazy outbursts, cries, gets sad or feels anything but upbeat and happy. Needless to say, I do all those things. Still, there is this perfect person I want to be, who is happy not only for herself but for the people around her. Who is bright and shiny and bubbly and cheery. Oh, I am all of that a lot of the time. And then I explode, tearing to bits myself and the people caught in the explosion. Then I feel massively guilty. For not controlling my anger. For being this awful tantrummy person.

Every day, I want to go to the gym and exercise. I want to do this because a) it’s good for my health b) I need to lose weight. Scratch that- I need to lose massive amounts of weight. I want to live up to and become this impossible ideal of beauty. And when I don’t, I hate myself for it. I hate myself for not going to the gym. I hate myself for not taking the time out to do this for myself. I hate myself because I blame myself for not doing this one thing for myself.

Every day, I want to be the perfect wife. Loving, caring, sweet and gentle. I want to make breakfast and dinner for my husband. I want to be there for him. I want to be nice to him. I want to be a loving , kind, wonderful person who listens to all his problems and shares his concerns. And I do this- most of the time. Except for the explosions.

Every day, I want to be the perfect housewife. I want an immaculate clean sparkling house, where everything is in its proper perfect place. Where the bathrooms sparkle and the kitchen sink dazzles. Where the floor and walls and d├ęcor and curtains and bedspread are all clean, and matching and beautiful. I work towards this endlessly.

Every day, I want to cook fresh delicious food. From scratch. Every time I use frozen food I feel a little bit more guilty. About not providing fresh and healthy food to my family.

Every day, I want to be the perfect daughter. I want to take care of my parents, who are so far away and alone and unhappy without me.

Every day, I want the perfect life with perfect vacations in perfect locations looking perfect with my perfect husband.

Every day, I want to be there for my friends. Listen to their pain and share it with them.
Every day, I want to take my vitamins on time.
Every day, I want a well stocked larder and fridge. I want my grocery shopping to be comprehensive.
Every day, I want to give and get great sex.
Every day, I want to dress up well and be perfectly turned out and with great hair.
Every day, I want my laundry all folded and put back in its proper place.
Every day, I want the beds made.
Every day, I want my electric toothbrush cleaned.
Every day, I want to be in the office by 9:00 AM.
Every day, I want to make and take lunch with me.
Every day, I want to be perfect in every way.
Every day I fall short. Every day, I inch a little bit closer to going out of my mind. Every day, I hate myself a little more. Every day, in a million small ways, I die because I am not perfect.