School has started, and not surprisingly, I’ve overextended myself. I hate saying it, I especially hate writing it, because it is a glaring reminder of that which I cannot change, my humanity and inability to do everything I want to do, perfectly, but it is a reminder nonetheless of all I am working toward, and what I am willing to accept about myself. I am human. I am perfectly imperfect. This is all okay.
I had signed up for a fifteen unit course load, thinking I could easily balance that with the book edits and working as a hostess. The truth of the matter is…. Why the fuck would I want to balance all that? I know “fuck” is a strong word, and I try to keep my swearing limited in this space, but seriously, why the fuck would I want to be able to do all that. What about sleeping? What about eating? What about therapy, my relationship with Mr. Man, with my friends? What about breathing? Would I still have time to breathe? I don’t think so. So after much internal debate (aka, arguing with self about own superhuman capabilities), I have resigned to the fact that if I take one less class, it will not make me any less capable or worthy of a human being. It will make me entirely human.
And being human, with the rest of us, is actually quite nice.
I was at the restaurant last night until 2:00a.m. and around midnight, a couple came in for dinner. The woman was very sweet, complimentary, and even though we’d never met before (I am quite good with faces and names), she said, “Honey, you always have on a cute outfit.” She led her significant other to the sushi bar, and even though I warned them that the servers were all upstairs and not serving this area, she said she didn’t mind because he was having a hard day and they needed some quiet time. So I told her I’d keep an eye on them, and if they needed anything and the server wasn’t there, I’d help out.
They didn’t need anything but to be together.
To enjoy a simple round of tuna, salmon and yellowtail sushi, and a big bottle of hot sake. They held hands through dinner, and I started to think about my darling boyfriend and how much I love him. I started to think about how kind and compassionate people can be, and how all it takes is a little empathy for us to feel like we are not so alone. And then I looked at the giant chapter of reading that I had to do for my sociology class, a class that is not required by Northridge, a class unnecessary for my major, and I thought, “Holy cow, I’m going to kill myself.”
Not like, suicide kill myself, but, emotional, workload, metaphysical suicide. I am going to kill my drive to succeed by overloading myself with things I think I should be able to do. Because I’m trying to catch up, make up for lost time. Which is pretty silly considering time isn’t all that linear, it doesn’t become lost, and it often repeats itself. So I’m selling the textbook, I dropped the class, and I will not be taking the full, fifteen unit load. Just twelve. Twelve units, twenty-five to thirty hour work weeks, book editing, girlfriend and friend being, self-caring, these are the things I can handle, and these are the things I want to spend my time on.
I don’t need to overdo it to feel like I have accomplished something. I am accomplishing something every time I wake up and face the day, like one of my dear friends L.S. says, “loving the world all over again.”
I will die when it is right. I don’t need to kill myself until then. I used to be very upset with myself for being human, and having limitations. Now, I am so glad to recognize those limitations, because it means I can catch myself from flying off the edge.
Mantra for the day: I forgive myself for being human. I give permission to myself to continue being human.