potential energy

As a naturally overachieving child, I was always told that I could do anything, be anything that my little heart desired. Everything came easily, and because of that I never learned much about dealing with failure. Somehow I've been a carefully balanced blend of talented and lucky, and have always come out on top, even when failures have occurred. Despite being the human equivalent of a cat, the specters of these failures still rankles.

When I say failures, I really mean "failures", or things that I perceive as failures. That is, not being the A-number-one in everything. I was good. At nearly everything. Big fish, small pond. Perhaps sending me to a tiny parochial school did me a disservice. Maybe I would have been better adjusted today had I been thrust into the comparatively larger environment of private school. Maybe. The point here is that now, though I am (apparently) good at what I do, I'm not great. And I think I should be. Why am I not recognized and chosen to accomplish the great things that I think I can do? Am I just masquerading at being able to do these technical things? Perhaps I should give myself more credit, for if I am in fact masquerading, it's a pretty damn good disguise. If I am better suited for creative, literary, visual pursuits, but still receiving good reviews for my technical abilities, things can't be all that dire. Of course, how much more impressive would I be if I were in the right job?

And this is what keeps me up at night. Am I in the right field, the right technical area, the right job? I have so much goddamn potential, but I worry that I'm wasting it. Because of my dread of failing, I also have a difficult time attempting new things. What if I screw it up? Or look stupid? The horror! If I can't be immediately good at things, then I won't do it. But... what if I can only get to my real potential with time? More rational people than I have probably realized this already... but one of my biggest flaws is impatience. Patience is a virtue... one which I sorely lack.

winter itch

Winter and my skin do not get along, and this gets worse every year. This year my legs are dry and peeling--I feel like a lizard shedding its skin. It would be cooler if I could peel my skin off and leave a dry replica of myself on the floor. But no. Rubbing my legs results in little rolls of skin peeling off my legs... gross. Unfortunately, this rubbing seems to be the only effective exfoliation. All the king's horses and all the king's loofahs can't rid me of my dry scaly lizard legs.

A number of winters ago, the Body Shop's body butter was helpful in ridding me of dry bumpy legs, so I stocked up on jars and jars of the butter. Unfortunately now it seems like it no longer is as effective. At least it's got a lovely texture and selection of scents, but I still need something to de-leatherize my skin. I've heard recommendations for almond oil, coconut oil, shea butter, baby oil, and many others, but how the heck to choose? What will be least likely to make me slip and crack my head open on the shower floor? (How embarrassing to be found unconscious, naked, and oily in the shower.)

A new development this winter is an oddball sensitivity to my sheets. It's probably the detergent, though my clothes don't garner this kind of itchiness. I lie down in bed and nearly immediately everything starts itching. Itch itch itch. My arms, my legs, my back, my front, my head. Everything. Is it in my head, or is it my detergent?

sleeping sickness

Home sick. When I was a kid, I hated staying home sick. Would not stay home sick. I was a weird kid and hated getting behind in schoolwork. I also hated having to call a classmate for the homework assignments, even kids I considered my friends. My mom would sometimes have to force me to stay home when I was really sick.

Now that I'm in theory a responsible adult, I'm responsible for my own health and sometimes have to channel my mom to make myself stay home. This time around, I reminded myself that I want to go visit my best friend at the end of the week, and a cross-country flight will be horrible if I have to do it congested and achy. Plus, I just felt exhausted and achy this morning, despite having gone to bed somewhat early last night. So I'm home today.

I hate being sick. I cannot imagine that anyone really enjoys being sick (well, munchausen's suffers maybe, but that's another thing altogether), but I feel completely powerless and my brain becomes mush. I become functionally nonfunctional. However, I do perversely enjoy the utterly exhausted feeling of being sick--the one where my body feels unbelievably heavy and leaden. Where my muscles ache just a bit and my brain is so foggy that a slow, sluggish slide into sleep feels perfectly welcome.

I love that moment where I feel my mind and body shutting down for the evening. Falling asleep is so abrupt. I like the journey and conscious knowledge of sleep--the increasing weirdness of my thoughts and how one connects to the next are testaments to the peculiarities of my mind. At this point I can take control and wake myself up by trying to retrace my thoughts--what was the catalyst for the reverse oscillating sine wave?--or I can surrender to where my brain wants to go, deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole.

Going to sleep is interesting enough when well, but when I've got a cold, I revel in the nighttime-specific meds that render my mind as congested as my nose and head. Weird thoughts become odder; heavy muscle aches become heavier. My head becomes foggier, but unlike during the day, when I need my brain to work, nighttime head-cloudiness is welcome, signaling the onset of relief from congestion and discontent for another few hours.