“But she wants everything
(He can pretend to give her everything)
Or there’s nothing she wants
(She don’t want to sort it out)
He’s crazy for this girl
(But she don’t know what she’s looking for)
If she knew what she wants
He’d be giving it to her
Giving it to her”
I love numbers. I love order. I love planning and figuring. I thrive when I’m in control. I’m happiest when everyone does what I say. That shouldn’t be too much to ask, right? 😉 But anyways. Numbers. Figures. Plans. Oh and messes. Number messes. Challenges. I love those.
My husband knows all of this. Anyone who knows me, knows this. And I know this.
“I’d say her values are corrupted
But she’s open to change
Then one day she’s satisfied
And the next I’ll find her crying
And it’s nothing she can explain”
So I’ve decided to try something for the next couple months. I’m putting our grocery money on a budget. Not just any budget; but the mother of all budgets. Broken down into micro managed little virtual envelopes. Every single item I purchase. I grouped some – frozen veggies, or fresh produce – since those will depend on what’s available each week and what I’m planning to make. This also will require me to take weekly grocery trips – but that’s kinda a good thing I suppose. I love to cook, and I make most of our meals – so that is a lot of items. A few months ago, I would have not done this. No one “else” breaks a grocery budget into so many little parts. I would’ve talked myself out of it and then not done it. Because that’s just weird, I’d have scolded myself.
So it wouldn’t have gotten done, and I’d have been left with an uncomfortable unfinished feeling all day. I hate that feeling.
But I’m learning that so much of what I do isn’t as terrible as I had thought. Or, more rightly, so much of what I WANT to do. I guess I’m learning to be more gentle with myself. It’s nice. Regardless, I realized what I wanted to do, and instead of my normal self-criticism and self-denial, I just told myself OKAY. Sounds good. And I threw myself into it. I loved it. Love love loved. I planned and figured and calculated and wrote.
It chilled me out. Cheered me up. Gave me a bit of control – and I clearly function much better with that. I’d always thought that feeding my control freak only made it worse. What if I was always wrong? I feel like I’m constantly re-learning about myself. It’s been years and years since I saw my idiosyncrasies as gifts, as something special or positive.
One more thing. I was about to head into town the other day for a much-needed much-delayed shopping trip, but things came up and I didn’t go. I went today. What’s more? Is that I also make a trip to another town with my family, and enjoyed some time at a park. Got a bit too dizzy from the playground spinning roundabout. But still. It was nice. I really think I enjoyed myself so much because earlier I “fed” my control freak. What if I’ve been doing the wrong thing all along, and judging myself too quickly and harshly?
“Some have a style
That they work hard to refine
So they walk a crooked line
But she won’t understand
Why anyone would have to try
To walk a line when they could fly…”
~The Bangles, If She Knew What She Wants (86)
misplaced mermaid 