I still have a lot of writing to do but I feel like I can write no longer. It is as if my brain has suddenly become uncapable of generating any more ideas for equipment rental write-ups and background check descriptions. I feel bad about it really. This is what would supposedly break the monotony of it all.
I have been reading this particular book for the past weeks. Although I already had that book with me for months now, I just could not find enough time to finish it and so I decided to get myself into reading a chapter or two every day.
Yesterday’s “reading session” revealed a lot about that part of me which I have yet to know. There was a discussion about the “inner parent.” That part basically talked about how we bring our parents with us even when we leave home. Vague, huh? This is how it works. The kind of discipline that we have had, no matter how we dislike it, is the same kind of discipline that we impose on our selves even when our parents are no longer there.
What I later found out was that I came from a family of perfectionists. When I asked my mother during lunch if Lola was one, she told me that she is more or less the epitome of such word. My mom then recalled how my grandmother would throw out the clothes which my mom just washed just because she isn’t satisfied with how “clean” it already was. And so, everything had to be washed all over again. I smiled and recalled my own experience of the obsessive-compulsive tendencies of my Mom. I was in fourth grade then and one of my duties at home was to keep my room tidy at all times (i bet every kid is tasked with such). I would like to believe that every youngster have tendencies of getting their rooms all messed up – that is so that I would not be feeling too bad about myself. One afternoon, my mom got really pissed off about how untidy my room was or at least it just did not match up to her concept of cleanliness and orderliness. I could never forget how I spent the entire evening putting my things back to where they were because my mom literally wrecked the place. And that was the story of how I could never begin studying my lessons when my room isn’t orderly enough when I was in college. There were even instances when I would have very little time to do my homework or study for a quiz or an exam just because I had to clean the room that I shared with three other coursemates. Even my closest friends would be hesitant to sit on my bed because they know I never want to see my sheets all crumpled when I am not on it. These are only a few manifestations of an inherited trait.
I am not exactly a neat freak. I leave my things in utter disarray every once in a while. My room still isn’t untidy all the time. But knowing that it doesn’t have to be like that just disturbs me and it makes me feel bad about myself.
The fact that I could not do what I am supposed to do today makes me feel bad because it is not supposed to be that way. Perfectionism has its pros and cons. When you want things to be perfect at all times, you tend to do your best always. But, when you need everything to always be perfect, you would miss out on the beauty of things as they are.