The irony is, I’m terrible with details. I can’t figure out the right threshold, the right setting. Either I actively ignore the minutiae and pretend they don’t exist at all, or I end up mired in the trivial, and I end up taking hours when it should’ve taken minutes, and every task becomes a variation of Zeno’s Paradox, getting halfway there, then halfway again, then halfway again of that, but still no closer to the finish line. This leaves me extraordinarily tired and frustrated, with a bunch of half-finished or maybe three-quarters finished projects lying around.

So what ends up happening is that I give up and procrastinate.

I’m not sure where this obsessive/compulsive focus on perfection came from. As far as I can tell, neither of my parents are really perfectionists. My mother comes close to being one, and yet she isn’t exactly the epitome of organization and order. My father can live with whatever is good enough.

But everyone knows perfection is impossible, and yet most people are able to live their lives without this paralyzing fear of always fucking things up. In retrospect, it becomes clear why nothing ever happens in my life. I’ve actively tried to avoid it.

In the past month, I’ve managed to pull my head above the water. I certainly didn’t do it on my own. Nothing would’ve ever happened if I didn’t have help from my friends. In particular, S., but also J and D. And I realize, if I don’t keep trying, I’m just going to sink back down into the endless depths of that cold, dark sea. That raw thought actually terrifies me. I’d almost rather drown in loneliness and despair than have to actually take a risk and actually aim for a little happiness.

I think some part of me was horrifically stunted some time during adolescence. Deep down inside, I’m still that 13 year old kid grappling with a hostile world, both at school and at home, never learning how to trust anyone.

And, oh man, I can see that chasm. It’s wide, and I can’t see the bottom of it. But I also see you on the other side, ready to catch me, and maybe if I get a good running start….

But it ain’t gonna happen. Not unless something inside me changes dramatically. Somehow I’ve got to re-experience the years of my life where I’ve actively avoided doing anything of consequence and never truly shared the depths of my heart with anyone, either romantically or even just as friends. Maybe if I actually tried once or twice, maybe things would’ve turned out drastically different. I guess that, no matter how much I protest, E. is right, and has got the force of an aphorism to prove it. It’s better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all. So, instead, all I’ve got is a pocketful of what-ifs and missed chances. I’m not sure what’ll get me off of this cliff that I seem to be eternally perched on. Somehow, I’m gonna have to actually try and jump.