Yeah. I'm looking for that perfect man.
Sigh. It's not going too well.
Joking aside, I used to be one in my twenties. Then somehow -- maybe through group therapy? I'm guessing -- I stopped trying to meet the standard.
And now there is nothing but chaos -- so watch out if you decide to reform!
Really, I'm serious. I was going to list 3 accomplishments on that other thread as taking out the garbage, cleaning up my bedroom (almost done) and changing the cat litter.
I know that sounds like I'm being funny, and I am a little, but really, not. My mother did not keep house. I mean, she just didn't keep house. Our house looked worse than any of those you see on the tv reality shows. She never cleaned, she never vacuumed, we never knew whether the dishes in the DW were dirty or clean. (Since she was one of those who washed the dishes before she put them in, they often were sort of both.)
Things stayed wherever they landed, sometimes for years. (I am NOT kidding.) You couldn't get to our dining room table (where we ate our meals, kitchen had a table but not very big). Every night I'd have to somehow clean up everything that was there so we could eat.
When my mom bought groceries, she'd just bring the bags in and leave them on the floor. They'd stay there until they were empty. (So yes, if she bought more, the new ones would just be added to the old ones.)
Our kitchen should have been condemned.
After my brother was hurt there were piles of his laundry lying all around.
My dad got several papers. He never picked them up; he would yell and scream at us and we would pick them up; back in those days no one had heard of recycling except the local boy scouts who had a "paper" drive 1-2 times a year. Our papers would accumulate; then when the drive came along my dad would lock us in the basement and make us tie up HIS papers.
There was no structure, no nothing. It was too embarrassing to have someone over, so I never did. We only rarely had company -- every several years, perhaps when my mom's sister came to visit. (Then, of course, there would be a mad scramble to clean up.) Never any neighbors or anything.
This is an example of how things were upside down in my family -- we kids were made to clean up after our parents. In all of this mess my dad's big "thing" was having the carpeted stairs vacuumed, and he would fly into rages, yelling at us (me) to vacuum them.
We, especially me (from my point of view!) would get caught in this battle between my parents. My mom did nothing and instead of yelling at her to clean up her act, my dad yelled at us and expected us to do it. Of course I think kids should have chores and responsibilities around the house, but this was far beyond that. The analogy would be if he'd made us go out and get jobs to support the family because he'd decided not to. (My dad was a very hard worker.)
As a result, I never learned "order" skills and cleaning skills. It seems like an elusive dream to me to have a really clean house (townhouse). I'm a total right-brained person to begin with, so organizing things is anathema to me, and this just makes it harder. I seem to have this deeply ingrained visible picture of "mess," and that's what feels comfortable to me.
I've been doing very well in the place where I live now, but I know it's not sparkling clean like many homes (it's clean, it just gets a little cluttered; there is no counter space, not much kitchen space, storage space, no basement or big closet, and the kitchen is teeny-tiny -- made for someone who only microwaves. You can stand in it and reach everything. Two people wouldn't fit, really. Not enough room to roll out a pie crust or put a cookie sheet on the counter.)
Anyway, a "perfect" house/home seems like an elusive dream to me. But it's looking pretty good! I just don't know how to get that sparkle. (I do -- it's called cleaning lady, but can't afford one.)
...and my dad was a total perfectionist with us. Both parents, really, if you count their standards for manners and behavior. If we got a 98 on our report card, my dad would rant and rave and belittle us and want to know why we didn't get a 99. (My dad had straight A's all the way through school and college, so perhaps he didn't understand this.)
When I made 2nd in allstate orchestra on my instrument -- which was a tremendous achievement -- my dad yelled and asked me if I couldn't have tried "1/8th harder" (there were 8 instruments in this section) and come in first. Of course, that doesn't even make sense! The math doesn't make sense.
And the manners and social behavior -- yikes! The stories I could tell you. Endless. Manners are manners and I'm all for politeness and respect, but when I tell some of my stories to people they are sort of incredulous.
So, there was an expectation of perfection that of course, I/we could never live up to. And what an irony, considering the mess (physical and emotional) we lived in. Underneath I think I perceived that inconsistency, but as a kid you don't have full access to your feelings. And in our family they were so squelched, anyway, that they were all locked away.
...thus, when I moved into my first apartment and out on my own, I tried and tried and tried to be perfect ... at home, at work, everything. But of course I couldn't be.
It's funny. One of the things about my group therapy experience that I always remember is how I came the first night (and many after) and looked very well put together. (Let me make it clear: I am not a well-put-together looking kind of person. I do not do that neat, crisp thing well.) At that point in my life I took a lot of pains to look good: hair, make-up, etc.
As I started to heal in group, I started to let the veil drop. I don't think the appearance thing was a total mask, but it must have been one in part. It hasn't been until this winter, after the N experience, that I've ever gone back. Interestingly enough, the one thing that really helped me heal from him was taking good care of my appearance. I'm not an appearance-oriented person at all. But this time it really helped. My girlfriend here at work (the cancer survivor) is enormously talented with hair and make-up -- unbelievable! -- so she's been, shall we say, transforming me. I never understood how taking pains with your appearance could be so ... rewarding! I wasn't brought up this way. (My mom was beautiful but she didn't do this either; she walked around in horrid clothes, ripped pants held together by safety pins)
Oh well, quite the long ramble about my journey with perfection. In any case, it used to be a real struggle but I gave it up years ago. If you possibly can, I recommend it! Oddly enough, you get control over your life by letting all control go. So perfectionism can really stand in the way.
Oh -- and should I talk about musical perfection? Yikes! It's why I never play my instrument any more.
