Monday Monday
I have interns. They are very cute. One of them gave me chocolates and biscuits today as thanks for helping her with some stuff last week. She drew me a cute note. I am easily sold.
I also have a new assignment. It is about working life. Which bags to buy for work. What is the best smartphone. How to surf the net in the office without getting caught. Any other ideas? I am quite excited.
Finally, I have issues. How to be a good girl. How to be a good girlfriend. How to avoid arguing with someone who is determined to argue with you. How to remember that most normal guys have really fragile egos. How to talk to my mother. How to get more sleep. So many questions.
Now my issue is: how to write this story without any info? Argh.
posted by zyn ::
5:18 PM ::
3 Comments ::
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turning 26, and a quarrel
Feeling a bit down today at the prospect of having to grow up. I suppose it's apt, given that I go over to the wrong side of the 20s in a few weeks' time. I always thought I would like to be a grown-up, more so than most other people. I never really liked all the kiddy things. My playtime was more of the adult admin-type variety, like pretending to write cheques, filing my bills, compiling long grocery lists; as a kid my favourite toys were ledger books and invoice pads and toy cash registers (I still love those).
Even now I like the paperwork of being a grown-up. (Well, I don't like paying bills, but I still enjoy the act of writing a cheque; every time I do it I remember my childish glee in getting the words just right.) I like the freedom, the money, the ability to plan things and carry them out yourself. If adulthood was just about me I would love it.
The problem is that being an adult means taking on responsibility for other people too. That moment when you switch from being cared for to having to care for others ages you irrevocably.
When I was a kid my biggest fear was that my parents would die or disappear in the night and I would have to take care of my two younger siblings. I used to wake up a few times every night and sneak into my parents' room to make sure they were still breathing. Even now, with every day that passes, I refine my still-vague plans on what I will have to do in the event that my parents (1) die (2) become invalid (3) grow old. Since one of the three will definitely happen, I have to think about all of them over and over again.
In the meantime, I'm becoming increasingly aware that I may not be up to the task of actually being an adult. Money is now the least of my worries - my parents have enough stashed away and my scholar siblings are someone else's financial problem for the next decade or so. I think my biggest problem is being emotionally mature enough to be any kind of guardian. See the thing is, I don't really like people. I don't like to talk to them about their problems, unless I'm trying to get a story. I'm not the sort of person to sit and listen to someone else's woes and pat them on the hand solemnly throughout. I'm more the type that offers tea and tells a joke.
So maybe I. is right and I'm in the right job after all. I can't take responsibility for anyone but myself. Which will be my depressing thought for the night.
posted by zyn ::
12:03 AM ::
1 Comments ::
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on compromise
(A long overdue post, in response to the young punk who thinks we're all settling.)
Really, I blame books and movies. We should be taught from a young age that all fiction is, if not outright lies, then cleaned-up versions of other people's fantasies.
The stories tell us that we're special people who deserve nothing but the best our imaginations can conjure. But that's ridiculous. None of us is special, or different, or unique. We know that. And we're somehow convinced that if we can find the right person, that one perfect fit who thinks we're perfect too, then that will make us different. That will make us special.
Over the years we go from relationship to relationship, and one of two things happens: we get more and more choosy, and less and less happy; or we get more and more disenchanted, and less and less perfectionist. Either way we lose. The staunch singleton; the childhood sweethearts; the love-at-first-sight-married-in-six-months couple; the long-term cohabitants; the on-and-off pair - no one is perfectly happy with the person they end up with, if they end up with anyone at all. You're not going to get the fairytale courtship, the undying devotion, the eternal fidelity. Most of us won't even get a diamond, much less of the four-carat variety.
So I guess this is what I'm saying: don't look for happiness. Don't seek perfection. It's not out there; it's not a matter of time; you don't have a right to it. Be happy, instead, with what you do have. That imperfect, tempestuous, restless, predictable relationship. That lonely, exciting, unsatisfying, content singlehood.
We all have to settle. The tragedy is in believing that settling makes us worse off for it.
I must add, though, that it's easy to say all this when your boyfriend has just picked you up from the office at 11pm with a big hug and a huge cheery yellow smiley-face balloon just because you had a bad day.
So it's not the perfect relationship. That doesn't mean it can't be the best.
posted by zyn ::
1:29 AM ::
14 Comments ::
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