There is a book out there I recently ordered of off the ‘Zon. I’m already beginning to regret my purchase, and it hasn’t even arrived yet. It could turn out to be one of many things: Fun, Boring, Handtool of Beezelbub himself. I think boring might be the worst, because that would send me spiraling down into a deep black hole of depression. I know I’m boring, I don’t need documentation to prove that. Or do I? I write here. I write on Diaryland, right? So”I know this makes very little sense. I write about myself all the time. Right? Right?
I‘s the questioning that will get me in the end. I know, on my deathbed, what will eventually kill me is this: there will be two pottles of medicine which I need immediately to save my life. Taking either one would work, and I know this. I just can’t decide which one to take. And so I die rather than decide. I am the sufferer of a malady that strikes many woman my age, strong, independent, intelligent woman. I am’indecisive.
This has actually been the downfall of many relationships. Sig sticks with it out of love. I had a highschool boyfriend tell me he was sick of always making all the decisions. It’s not me being passive, I do NOT subscribe to the ‘whatever my man wants’ school of thought. I just found it was much faster that way. You should see me trying to decide on a movie, unless there is something out I really must see. I am the queen of the shoulder shrug, partnered with a bored ‘I don’t care,’ not because I don’t care, just because I’m unsure. I question decisions I made years ago. I question what my life would be like had I gone to another college, had I studied harder, had I took that job in Idaho. I don’t do it to the point of making my life miserable, it’s more just a curious fascination with choice.
I try not to work like that so much anymore. I try not to question myself as much, and I try to keep my mind open, which is damn hard work. I TRY. But I am really talented at questioning myself.
This book I ordered is titled ‘All About Me.’ I had the child’s version of this book when I was younger. Probably what is the most telling part of the book is not the information I filled out, but HOW I filled it out. I crossed out my name, unsure whether to write it in cursive or block letters. I retraced the size of my foot every time it grew. I crossed out and re-entered information for years, probably between the ages of 5 and 8 or so, rewriting favorite foods, favorite school subjects (apparently at age 5 I had said Math, which is a huge cosmic joke in itself), re-recording favorite books and movies as I grew and changed my mind. This book is supposed to be a time capsule of sorts, capture you in the moment. As a child, I already knew I did not want to be captured in childhood.
So, I’ve ordered another, ‘Adult’ version. Instead of capturing yourself in the present, this version is supposed to do both that and reflect on your past. In your mid-twenties, the past is short, so it still holds some of the anxiousness the child version did- I already know I am scared to find this when I am forty and hate myself. What if I am tempted to re-write? What’s precocious as a child isn’t so charming as a an adult. Another decision. And I KNOW already if I were another person, I wouldn’t like me a lot of the time. I don’t need a book to tell me this.
On the other hand, this could prove very entertaining.
Like I said, have a Diaryland account, but I don’t keep it very personal. If I ever kept more than just a record of daily events and such, I’d most certainly never put it on the internet. And if I did that, you can bet your sweet fanny it would be so secret; no one but me and my bosses would know about it’s existence. (I work for the government, you know. I’m convinced they have cameras on me as I type.) There are a ton of things about me that don’t need to be written down- everyone has their secrets, and those don’t ever go away. Skeletons don’t need recording. Right?
I think I’ll cancel that order. Gasp. Is that (pure shock) a DECISION I just made????????
Yep. I don’t want to know ‘all about me.’ I’d rather it be a surprise. I think I even knew that at age 5.
And about playing the Personal Info card’
One secret of mine I can share now: I was never, ever really bad. I knew bad people, I had bad friends. I did my chores, I never cussed at home. I was in student government. I played sports. I was the fucking National Honor Society President. I was, by most accounts, until I left home, a good girl with a few bad influences around her.
I touched a sculpture at the Vatican. Art, I touched ancient, ancient art. I didn’t tell anyone, just ran my fingers over the marble and thought ‘this is me being bad.’