Jiminy-crow, this is being a tough post to write.
I started it last night, with "ten compulsions," then deleted it 'cause it was so frankly weird. Then "ten things about me that are Good," which got as far as #4 before flaming out in a crash of twisted metal nobody-cares. Toyed briefly with the idea of "ten things I would like to have," but that's perhaps even a little shallower than the rest of this navel-gazing enterprise, don't you think? (Especially since none of those ten things would have been "a keener sense of compassion for other people.") And then I went over to Amy's blog and read some of her posts, and they all convey a sense of engagement with the world and meaningful introspection without losing their edge of wry humor, and my blog just never does anything like that and it's pretty much just all first-person-subject sentences and a lot of snarking, and anyway I got kind of discouraged and maybe a little bitter and then we had to go pick Fisher up from school and go to the park.
So. Um. I humbly present for you today's Random 10 RedMolly Facts: the "Ten Things I'd Change About Myself, the Did I Have the Wherewithal and/or a Wand Edition."
- Let's get the really important one out of the way first. Gain three inches, lose twenty pounds, shrink my rib cage from its natural australopithecine proportions, miraculously acquire a set of bodacious ta-tas and hair that's the perfect un-chemically enhanced shade of red. And yes, I can make that all be one thing. This is my list.
- My complete, utter and abiding personal inertia. Laziness, lack of stick-to-it-iveness, ADD, whatever you want to call it. The thing that makes it so that I can't ever seem to see a project through to
- My lack of, and indeed distaste for, athletic ability.
- My dislike of beer. Because I love and adore red wine, but sometimes the occasion-appropriate beverage is something cold, frosty, hoppy, even (dare I say it?) a bit lower-brow. (But not Lowenbrau. That's never a good idea.) There may be light at the end of this particular tunnel, though; I've recently discovered that I quite like Mike's Hard** Lemonade (actually, I like the Hard*** Lime better) and that meets most beer-type criteria. Still pretty damn embarrassing to be seen drinking, though.
- The schizophrenic little voice in my head. No, not the voices that are a fair indicator of schizophrenia; the single bifurcated voice that can't seem to decide if I'm on the right track or bound for utter calamity. The one that really likes The Book* one minute and really hates it the next. The one that slaps me across both cheeks: "This is a great project! Why are you bailing out midstream?" and its inevitable B-side, "What a stupid freakin' waste of time! Why didn't you drop it by the wayside earlier?"
- The nightmares that come probably three nights out of the week, and have been taking up residence in my sleepbrain for the last four nights straight. The one night before last was a doozy... damn.
- My constant, gnawing and sometimes paralyzing need for validation. 'Cause nobody really likes me (why should anyone?) and yet I want everyone to like me so very badly...
- Another multifer: Mildly Grouchy Impatient Mama, who surfaces pretty much every day for a regular airing, and Insane Ragemonger Shrieking Mama, who pops up randomly and usually when she's least needed and most unhelpful. ("What... do... you... MEAN... you can't find... your... #@$!!!... SHOES?!")
- My utter inability to express complex thoughts or emotional earnestness of any sort. Mile wide and an inch deep, yep. A Jeopardy champion in the making, or at least an overeducated underrelating history/science geek. (Want to hear about the thirteenth century? No? What about the wacky mammals of the Miocene?) And why bother empathizing when you could snark instead? Life's far too short to spend focusing on hard things like math or, y'know, human emotions. Look--a pony!
- My fear of moths. Stupid: yes. Surmountable: apparently not. (And no, not butterflies. Just moths. Shudder.)
Well, hey, that's done, and now I can go Mr. Clean Magic Erase the walls or something useful like that. Or pack. 'Cause we have a house to move to. Did I mention that? That we have a house? What's done is done, and let the dead bury their own dead.
*yes! We are now capitalizing The Book, in respect to its insistence on being thought about even when not being actively worked upon. And since we have no title and no inklings of a title, The Book is serving quite well, nomenclature-wise.
** Heh-heh. I said "hard."
*** Heh-heh. I said "hard" twice. "Hard twice."