The concept of forever gives me the jibblies. I don't necessarily mean in the infinity and beyond sense, although contemplating an infinite sense of time and universe gives me an existential twinge of uneasiness. That kind of forever isn't really much of my business.
The forever that makes me curl up in a ball and suck my thumb is the kind that that many of my peers appear to have conquered, as evidenced by the myriad of facebook status changes from "in a relationship" to "engaged". I won't say that I don't trust other people, but I am exceedingly skeptical of my own ability to adapt to the changes in others.
I mean, I like The Boy well enough, and all signs point to him tolerating me pretty well. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't foresee either of us breaking up with the other any time soon. But I cannot guarantee that at any given time, The Boy won't do something to irreparably change my esteem for him, like voting for Bob Barr in November or deferring his imminent graduation to follow his dream of living in a cardboard shack in Belarus.
I also cannot guarantee that I, myself, won't suffer a psychotic break and glue feathers to my arms and terrorize children for the rest of my life. Some things just can't be predicted.
So, when I contemplate forever it's always with an elaborate system of "buts" and "ifs" so forever is neatly dissected into more manageable pieces. If everything works out. If we want the same things. But I don't mean wedding bells. But only if you want to. Etc...
Many times I'd planned to be much more than who I am
Stop stealing my pens. This is your last warning.
Call it hubris, but I like to think that I'm fairly successful in most things I do. Sometimes I have physical proof, like trophies or some sort of certificate with official looking calligraphy. Other times it's simply a mental comparison to the people around me who are doing the same thing.
I don't think it's any sort of innate talent or Jedi mind trick that allows me to float near the top. If that was true, I'd be "the best" way more often, then, well, almost never. I'll leave being "the best" to the Lindas and Sarah Bradys of the world. I don't recall exactly what my parents raised me to be or do, but I do know I have a tendency to want to be "good" at anything I do.
It's a bit of a matter of pride, I think, instilled in my wee years as a Haughty Gifted Student. I was always set apart from my peers, so I naturally tend to want to be in that (generally inconsequential) "upper echelon". I'm Cathi. I'm good at things. I do things well. It's what I do. I don't necessarily want to or need to (or, hell, can) be the best, but I do perform above average.
These somewhat boastful thoughts are brought to you by a conversation with a regular customer who commented that it's rare to find people, like myself, who care about their job, especially in the restaurant business.
I felt the compulsion to clarify: Yes, I care about my job, but not because of the job itself. I couldn't care less if I build sales or uphold "the brand". I care about my job because I'm Cathi Martin. I care that I do things well, and therefore care about doing my job well. I'm okay with being ego maniacal, I'm not okay with being a tool.
And so, I will continue to bartend and continue to hold my place on the laughable Quality Team, because it's how I roll. But please, don't ask me for ideas on how to increase customer attendance. I don't know, and I don't care.
I, robot, will never die,
PS If I die in a tornado tonight, I want my tombstone to read "Damn you Joliet Jackhammers"
I'm not sure if it's possible to fall in love with someone based on their voice alone, but if so, The Boy better watch his back. Jason Mraz is stealing me away.
As a compulsive list maker and proud owner of a BA, I think I'm somewhat qualified to make rational decisions. As a relatively successful speech-maker and debater, I also think I'm somewhat qualified to weigh all sides of an issue, or at the very least acknowledge that there are multiple sides to an issue. As a communications and foreign language double major, I can't promise that my skills will lead me down a profitable or logical path.
So please: as I weigh my options for what to do about my living situation, let me do it my way. I know about the financial benefits and drawbacks. I know about the social benefits and drawbacks. I know about the mental and professional benefits and drawbacks. Whatever the decision is, trust me that I've thought it out rather painstakingly and ultimately had to flip a coin.
Despite bets placed on the contrary, The Boy and I did not wind up hating each other after our long D.C. roadtrip weekend. He came away hating Washington, and I came away hating The Boy's tendency toward tight-waddiness, but I'd say that over all, the trip was a success.
He and I are both characteristically reticent, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that, when I scolded him for picking up his book when we literally only had 20 minutes left of our drive home, his response was a rather whiny, "...but I've been talking to you for the last two hours!"
While our nation's capital might not have dazzled me or filled me with a newfound respect, I emerged with a better sleep schedule and a heart filled to bursting. Our two-year "I love you"-versary passed with little more than a text message acknowledgment, but we're not the gushy type. We finally have nice pictures of us together, and while we may not have a lot to say, it's clear neither of us mind too much.
15 days until Hawaii!
18 days until Miranda is a palindrome!
20 days until Jaci is a palindrome!
21ish days until Illinois again!
Month and a halfish until on my own?
71 days until NOT SCHOOL!