Eleven days…

I’m not a perfectionist.  I do not expect everything around me to be perfect.  I do not expect to achieve perfection in what I do.  However, I will not lie to you; I would like to come close.  Okay, I would LOVE to come close! God knows, I put enough pressure on myself with the intention of just trying to come close to perfection, let alone actually being a “real perfectionist.”

I confess… I am an imperfect person working overtime to achieve the title of “slightly less than perfect.”  Doesn’t that seem easier to attain?  Nope, it’s just as difficult.  In fact, if there was a club entitled, “We want to be ‘almost perfect’ but we don’t even come close,” I would volunteer to be the leader, the head honcho, the big cheese.  Yep, that would be me.  Who am I kidding?  Let’s just face it… I put more pressure on myself than necessary, and it’s unhealthy.

I want to be successful; I want to be productive.  When the pressure begins to increase, I usually try to make changes.  I used to think of who I wanted to be and try to make it happen.  I want to keep a perfect house and always have everything in its place.  I do.  I really, really do.  I want to be June Cleaver and be dressed in my best outfit with a pretty hand-sewn apron while running the vacuum cleaner, and give a heartfelt and cheerful “welcome home, dear” as my husband enters the front door like a king in his well-kept kingdom.  I’ve tried.  I’m no June Cleaver, and when I pulled out all the stops to emulate her, it was anything but pretty.  I’m so thankful my husband wants me and not June Cleaver.

I work hard to achieve my goals, but if those aspirations entail housework, I usually accomplish them in my pajamas and bathrobe.  Sometimes I can’t cross off everything on my to-do list.  I become distracted and choose to write instead (like right now), I get lost at my piano, I join wonderful characters in a new book on their adventures, and sometimes, I even take on the role of couch potato. (yes, I said it!)

Have I ever discussed with you my “hate, hate” (notice I didn’t say love, hate) relationship with numbers?  I can think of almost nothing worse than having to try and do math.  The math part of my brain is broken.  Yet, somehow I came up with the bright idea to number the days until my birthday.  At first, I meticulously went over the countdown.  I reviewed each post in order to make sure I was listing the correct number of days until my birthday.  As time went on, I became lazy (Who knows? Maybe I was in couch potato mode.), and I wrote the number of days down wrong.  I noticed this when I knew I only had two weeks left until my 40th birthday and I had more than that number of days marked on my blog entry.  Those of you who know me and know me well, I can hear you laughing.  This, my faithful readers, is why I am the leader, head honcho, and big cheese of the “We want to be ‘almost perfect’ but we don’t even come close club.”

Please laugh with me and not at me… well, okay… laugh at me, I deserve it.

Number 11 (Hey, because of my mistake I get to make less goals.) of my “40’s goals’ list” – give the title of leader, head honcho, and big cheese of the “We want to be ‘almost perfect’ but we don’t even come close club” to someone else.  I just want to accept being crazy, quirky me.



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