torpor

It’s hot, and I’m looking at a big, shiny lake. On the horizon, the hilly landscape looks like it’s dissolving into layers of gray.

Everything’s annoying me.

The dogs pant and click their feet on the hardwood floor. Also, they’re as big as horses and think there’s going to be a party any time anyone stands, so we keep having to tell them to be still.

Sweat gathers behind my knees.

These long nails make it so I can’t type quite right. I was so pleased to return to the salon and let the technician keep them longer than I like on a whim. It’s now turned into an annoying whim that I want to correct.

The layer of dust on this table outside doesn’t mesh well with my new laptop or its case.

Everyone is listening to a different electronic device. All at once. It’s a cacophony.

My autocorrect pissed me off, so I apparently accidentally turned it off. I now kind of want it back, but it’s sulking.

I’m tired, but I just took a nap. The air conditioning in this place doesn’t work well. All of the music of Hamilton is running through my head all at once in a weird sort of remix. I feel stress about the weirdest thing—I have some photos to review and edit, which is objectively no big deal. Still, I stress.

Oh, and the setting sun is at the perfect angle to get in my face. I keep having to move.

Part of me thinks it’s not a good idea for me to write down things that are irritating me. After all, I usually try to write things that are thoughtful or uplifting, and I try not to complain.

Also, I’m on vacation. And isn’t everything supposed to be great while I’m on vacation?

But I’m writing it down with a purpose—to show that it’s okay to not varnish everything with a sheen of perfection. Not everything needs to be happy. It’s okay to be real. Even in minor, petty ways.

In fact, after I wrote this list and drank some more cold water, I now feel better.

I’m posting this, though, as a reminder not of my irritants, but that it’s okay to let the cracks and dust show.

I’ve spent too many years trying to be perfect so that I could please too many people. Upon deeper analysis and reflection, I’m not sure they ever noticed or even wanted me to bend myself in so many ways that I wasn’t myself. I now know that it’s okay for me to sit with my emotions, even the uncomfortable or inconvenient ones. Even the ones where I’m not sitting with a smile plastered on my face faking it. I don’t have to be something I’m not.

I’ve also learned that allowing in the icky feelings often lets them dissolve faster. All a feeling wants is space to be allowed to exist for a little bit. They want room to be acknowledged. But they don’t have to stay forever. It’s often kindest to myself to let myself feel whatever it is. Even petty irritation.

Breaking free from being a massive people pleaser is a big deal for me, and it’s not something that I’ve been cured of all at once. It’s a gradual process. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s okay.

Hence, this blog post.

And now that I’ve written it, things are looking up.

I took a nap. I sip a glass of ice water, the clear ice melting in a satisfying way. I eye a stack of fantastic books to read and I’ve got fiction-y things to write and it will soon be sunset. I can take a warm shower soon and feel better.

That’s real life. That sounds good to me.