Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Perfection

I can't do anything perfectly.

When I paint rooms I get paint on the ceiling and baseboards, when I clean I always forget something, when I cook, it's never quite right, when I garden it's in the wrong place, when I sing it's always slightly off-key, when I write it's never exactly what I want to say, when I speak it's always meaner than I mean.

I tend to be touchy when it comes to criticism. I already know there's something off with everything I do, therefore I feel no need to be reminded of it. I shut down pretty quickly when that happens.

Now, if you want to get all psychological you could say that my belief that everything I do is wrong could be related to low self-esteem or self-hate.

I say that's bullshit. There's nothing really wrong with how I do things, I only said there's something not quite right.

I think it's a pretty common feeling. Everyone thinks that their meatloaf, chicken noodle soup (insert homestyle recipe here) isn't as good as their mohters, that their co-workers are smarter, their father is braver, their sisters are prettier, their brothers are stronger, that marriage is healthier, that design is more creative.

It's human nature to see your flaws more easily than those of others. My challenge to myself is to turn the flaws that I see into reminders of the things that I've done.

That small lavendar smear of paint in the corner of my bedroom ceiling - proof that I'm not afraid of color and don't need stupid blue tape to paint a wall.

Those white paint drips in the back of my kitchen cabinets - proof that I can sand, strip, and repaint my kitchen cabinets by myself in 3 months.

That rickety bedside table - proof I can put something together when the instructions don't come with it.

That really great spaghetti sauce recipe - proof that I don't need to cook better than anyone, I only need to cook things differently.

That stain in the back bedroom carpet - proof that the owner before me thought that white carpet was a great idea and who is, therefore, a couple crayons short of a 12 pack.

I'll never do anything perfectly, but I'll do it anyway.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Europe in May

I've been having a bit of techno-hatred lately, so excuse the extended absence. I'll jump right in to the story.

My sister Meg did a study abroad program in Swansea, Wales starting in January. My youngest sister Myme and I decided to visit her in May. Our trip started on the 15th.

Myme drove from her small college town to my house and then I drove us to my parent's house in St. Louis, where we would be flying from. Myme and I got to the farm around 1 in the morning. We gave hugs and went to bed.

At 4 am we woke up and headed to the STL airport. We checked in, went through security, and waited for our first flight to Chicago. The plane left right on time at 7 and it was only a 45 minute hop to Chicago. The first bit of the trip was pretty uneventful, except for the Jesus freak who sat next to me.

He wouldn't shut up and kept spouting offensive things and calling people morons. I was trying to watch RuPaul's Drag Race on my iPhone but then he decided to make offensive comments about drag queens, lesbians, and Ellen Degeneres. I immediately told him about my love of drag queens and how fabulous they are. He then told me about his pregnant wife who left him over an unpaid insurance bill. She's now in Phoenix with her parents. Her parents think they need counciling but he thinks that only she needs it because she's the one with the problem, not him. I turned up the volume on my ear phones.

Myme felt a little air sick on the flight, which I am sure was only added to by the fact that them man in the seat across and up from her had an oozing open wound on his head about the size of a silver dollar.

We finally arrive in O'Hare and headed straight for the next gate for our flight over. It was a short 14 gates down. We had about 30 minutes before our flight so we went to get some food and then I assigned Myme with luggage watch while I went off in search of Dramamine and Mountain Dew. Dramamine for Myme and Mountain Dew for Meg, who apparently had no access to the delicious see-through beverage in the UK.

We got on the next plane and the flight there was good, but long. Myme pretty much conked out right away thanks to the dramamine. I was left with 6 - 7 hours of travel and no conversation. About 3 hours in I was stir-crazy. The food on the airplane wasn't as terrible as I had imagined. Myme wok up about 2 hours before we landed and as we were descending Myme's ears wouldn't pop, so her nose started to bleed. It was fabulous.