Despite the risk of ruining everyone’s already perfect impression of me, I present to you a hefty dose of self-awareness.
I don’t want to work hard.
I am incredibly lazy. I want to be a successful, cultured and brilliantly well-rounded human being and I don’t want to do anything to get there. I’ve wanted to write since I was a pre-teen and now, after a decade of not actively writing anything, I have finally given in and said “Fine. I’ll put the work in.” But I don’t wanna do it. I want to write, but I don’t wanna go through the sucky stages of being bad at something before you can get good at it. I suppose no one does but maybe it didn’t stop you from doing it and if so, you’re stronger than I am. I just want the work to write itself. I mean come on, is that so much to ask? Most days I’d rather my loyalties reside in sleeping, watching movies, and eating everything that’s bad for me. But it turns out I have to keep writing. Neglecting that fire in me is a bigger tragedy than not wanting to put the work in. So it goes.
I don’t do things that I don’t want to do.
My entire existence is driven by my emotions. I tend to abandon all logic for it. And it’s why I’m a deeply passionate person who simultaneously sucks at life. I find it foolishly agonizing to have to will myself into doing things that I don’t feel like doing. Most of which are necessary to get where I want to be in my life. I go to work and I pay my bills because those are things that I know I have to do. Everything else is an uphill battle if I’m not in the mood for it. Calls and texts go unanswered because I don’t feel like talking. I’m chronically late because I don’t feel like getting ready on time or I’m too busy not resisting other interests. It’s all very inconsiderate of me, adding to my initial stress.
I carry a false sense of entitlement.
And I’m not sure where it comes from. I was raised to believe the opposite, which is probably why I’m able to recognize that the feeling is false rather than justified. Still, I have somehow always believed that I deserve to have the entire world if I wanted it, and that maybe I even deserve it more than others. It’s productive if I choose to indulge my flighty aspirations of fame and fortune. But deep down I would prefer to be more of a real human being. Thankfully the universe kicks my ass right back down to earth on a regular enough basis.
I don’t like to try new things.
The truth is, I want nothing more than to want to try new things. But trying new things is hard. Trying new things takes effort, and that’s apparently not my thing. I’m mostly just scared of wasting my time on anything that may not totally rock my world. But this resistance has caused me to waste even more time being unhappy. I guess the joke’s on me.
I need drama.
I get bored. I want everything to be big and beautiful and bursting with life and meaning. But we can’t always have that. This sometimes forces me to channel my need elsewhere. The result is pettiness that most often gets projected onto my poor, innocent boyfriend. And that’s how you plant the seeds of resentment, folks.
I am a raging hypocrite.
I’ve noticed something awful in the past few years. Almost everything I reprimand someone else for doing is something that I’m actually ten times guiltier of. So really it’s like I’m yelling at myself but they don’t know that and I just look like a huge asshole. I don’t mind knowing that I’m wrong. I just don’t want you to know that I’m wrong. If I’m wrong, you’ll forget that you’re wrong and that’s unacceptable because…
I can’t let it go.
I’d like to think that I’m pretty easygoing towards most people. And then there are those closest to me. If you bear the misfortune of being one of them, prepare to be told when you’ve fallen short of the ambitious standard I am holding you to. And then prepare to have it drilled into your thick skull over and over again until I’m absolutely sure that you’ve fully grasped just how wrong you were. Which, in my all-knowing eyes, may never happen.
I’m positive the list goes on. But there you have it. On my worst days, I’m Kim Kardashian. If that’s not a sobering realization, I don’t know what is. Who are you?