Trying Not to Try: Overthinking My Boundaries

So I’m trying this new thing where I don’t try to do the things I want to do.

I guess one would call that spontaneity.

Although I wouldn’t call it that, I guess. But, for the lack of a better word, we will use that.

Anyway. I’m trying not to do too much thinking when it comes to actually doing something. I often find myself over-thinking and thus, thinking myself right out of doing something. I have no idea where all this thinking I’ve been doing has come from or where it first started, but I can tell you, I don’t like it.

Nope. Not at all. Not one bit.

And it happens WITHOUT THINKING! It’s like I can’t control it. When I decide I want to do something, my brain decides to think about it a little longer. Those few seconds between the decision and actually starting could possibly be the reason for the interception by my mind deciding to take a different route and think about it. I mean, of course, with some decisions it requires some thought. But how long should you really take to think about something you’ve already decided on? Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for that. Perhaps my brain hasn’t thought of one or came up with too many answers.

I’ve noticed that I’ve done more thinking than doing with even the simplest tasks. I could decide to wash the dishes….annnnddd then the thought of how I am going to wash the dishes comes up. “Dishwasher? Hand-wash? Is there even anymore dishwasher soap left to use? When should I start?” And the thoughts go on and on. I’ve noticed though that I’ve become stuck. Unable to move forward with a decision due to having too many options or the inability to come up with the right one. While I am in thought, there is usually no action.

And the tasks keep piling up.

Dreams keep getting deferred.

Perhaps I am just having a moment. Or maybe trying to break this vicious cycle that has crippled me from taking the first step towards completion.

Let me think about it.

Making Room for More Room

I have to say, trying to get organized is once of the most difficult things to accomplish when you haven’t practiced regular organization in your every day life. As I sit on the floor of my bedroom peeling through old medical bills and school documents from 3-, 4-. & 5+ years ago I grow overwhelmed with shame for having carried this pile of “stuff” from 4 different residences during that time frame. Like, what was I holding on to? Certainly my intentions were good as my overall intent was to “go through this stuff when i got time”. I’ve lost count of the many weekends I planned on organizing these papers to make life easier on me. Instead, my pile continued to grow as the years passed with duplicates and triplicates of the same….STUFF.

I’ve been at this task for the last 3 hours and I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere. Oh! I managed to fill a trash bag full of papers. So that has to count for something, right? ha! Now my bedroom floor is littered with various piles of whatever.

I am trying not to grow discouraged, but I can’t help but daydream about the days in high school when I seemed to have a grip on my “stuff”. During my little 5 minute breaks I find myself trying to pin-point when I dropped the ball on being organized. Back then at only 15, I seemed to have a better sense of what needed to stay and what needed to go. These days I’m simply “rearranging” and creating more of an organized mess if anything.

This has to stop.

Unfortunately this trait has reared it’s little head in many areas of my life, leaving my desk at my job to be the only organized area. I know it’s a stretch but, go with me on this.

Many of the little things that aren’t together in your life show up in other areas unnoticed for a long time until things get out of hand. The most common being relationships. Now I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can assure you my relationship history over the last 4 years has been a lot like these piles on my bedroom floor: short and everywhere. I’m averaging about 6 months tops if I’m lucky. 4 months is the norm. I guess that is to be expected the older you get and the more exposure you gain as you go along.

It took for the ending of the last dating situation I just had for me to realize: I need to organize this “organized mess” in this corner or my room once and for all. Perhaps by organizing the more important things in my life will allow me to have a better grip on externalities that are not 100% within my control; like the guy turning out to be complete emotionless person who become comfortable too quickly. Yeah, totally not my fault.

I now have one pile for randomness just waiting to either be thrown out of filed away some place. The good thing is that the organized mess is finally organized, equipped with only the necessary things that need to remain until further notice. The most vital of that mess is me. And you can bet your last dollar that this mess won’t ever get out of hand again.

As long as POSS…

As long as POSSIBILITY exists…

…NEVER can never be.

An epiphany I had one day after a stats class in college. It seems that the only thing that will never happen IS “never”. Ever pay attention to those cleaning product commercials and how their product can only kill “99.9% of germs?” Well, in statistics nothing is ever 100%; it’s either 90, 95, or 99 (something with how the math works out, I forget how she explained it. It’s confidence intervals, look it up). Anyway, that remaining 5, 10, or so percentage could be considered probability. Well, probability ain’t nothing but possibility spelled with a few extra letters. The big brother. The “ugly” sister. Whatever. To make things more relative, think about how often we say we’re NEVER going to do something and somehow, someway we end up doing it. A lot of times it’s done without thinking, not having a choice, or hell, love got to you (the most common 😂). Or even by happenstance! (like the many people who kill burglars protecting their homes. Bet they said they’d NEVER kill anyway). Moreover, we tend to preface our statements with “🐶, I’m 90/95/99% sure [insert whatever fact you believe you’re sure about HERE]” Anyway, my point is this: never say never. Because as long as the possibility exists, one can never be 100% sure they won’t do something (disclaimer: this may not apply to all things, but somewhere in the world it has already) 🙋Signed, Too Smart for my Own Good

Annndddd She’s BACK!

Today, I stop worrying. I’ve realized several times over that all I have is right now. However, my need to be prepared as much as possible has hindered me from doing the very things my heart desires. In some ways it has even crippled me to the point of not moving at all. This is no way to live; especially when the purpose of life is to LIVE, not just function. The body knows what to do until it expires. I woke up a few mornings and asked myself “Tami, if you were to die today, would you be happy with all that you’ve done or upset because you didn’t get to do what you wanted?” I didn’t have an answer for awhile but now I do. That answer is “No.” With that said, DO. LIVE! You will only be doing yourself a total disservice by not.

“I don’t like weave…”, he said.

The secret’s out. In fact, there’s probably an open discussion about the type of hair a woman is wearing and the admiration one has for its quality happening right now.

That’s not what he said to me though.

I’m currently dating this guy who feels that weave takes away from one’s beauty (more specifically mine since he said it to me). Although I beg to differ, I honestly believe weave has nothing to do with a way a woman looks. It’s just HAIR! Even though I was flattered at the fact that the underlying message to that statement was that he admired my “natural” beauty, I was quite offended that he believes extensions take away from it.

HAIR’s my theory (see what I did there?):

My wearing weave takes away from the idea of  seamlessly running your fingers through it in the bedroom.

I get it. Feeling a track while trying to perform passionate acts of love during intercourse was not what you envisioned. That type of interruption can be a bit disturbing if you’re not prefaced with the “this is not mine/please don’t touch” disclaimer. However, weaving techniques have improved drastically since it’s inception to avoid situations like sudden removal from tugging too hard. If it moves, let that be a reflection on the stylist and not the owner or her beauty.

Luckily for him, this is not a deal-breaker; but it’s toeing the line. I am in possession of a full head of hair but enjoy wearing others to avoid damage to my own. I believe the correct term is “protective styling”. And just like any relationship, there has to be some compromise. Weave, unfortunately, is not one of them.

Signed,

Beautiful Regardless

 

Long time, No See

After perusing a few hashtags and posts by random bloggers, I figured it was time to really put my blog to some use. I have never thought myself to be a writer but I enjoy expressing my thoughts in words exactly how I’d say them out loud. Since I don’t journal as often as I use to (thanks to Instagram and Twitter, my thoughts have gone electronic), it’s time to make use of this blog. I’ve wasted enough time trying to figure out what type of blog I want this to be instead of just letting it…be. Simple enough, right? Whatever, I’ll worry about the rest later.

If this is your first time on my blog, I recommend reading my post about the F-word. You are sure to be entertained.

Enjoy!

Cusswords: The “Eff” Bomb

*crowd snaps dwindle*

Thank you…

Ok, settle down now…

THE FEELING. You ever just say something so perfect and feel like “Yeah. That’s it. That’s exactly how I feel.” No? Well, I have. I remember the first time I dropped the F-bomb [insert Barry White music HERE]. Oh yes. It was great. It was the perfect word to describe my dilemma at the time. I could remember feeling relieved because that word put into perspective exactly how I was feeling about the situation (whatever that situation was at the time, I don’t remember). The F-bomb is a beautiful word in and of itself, man. You could say ” I will f*ck you up” and that very sentence promises a real ass beating in the near future  from the person speaking it into existence. I’m sure anyone who has ever made that statement meant it. Who knew that “I will f*ck you up” would mean “to commence to whooping ass?”

THE USE. I’ve discovered many things about this wonderful word over the years. What’s amazing about these little bite-sized words is how they’re synonymous to many things. Like “to f*ck” is “to have sex.” Genius! It makes perfect sense and it’s fitting. Another more common use of the F-bomb is to describe how bad a situation is. For example, “man, this sh*t is f*cked up!” In this sentence, the speaker has joined two of the most awesome cusswords together in foul matrimony, allowing the receiver to put into perspective the situation at hand. In other words, both parties understand that sh*t just got real and not in a good way. This sentence could have been longer but with the help of a few cusswords, we got right to the point and can now focus on finding a solution!

THE BENEFITS. There’s so many benefits to using the F-bomb and other curse words. For instance, cusswords are an environmentally friendly language allowing humans to save words (and hot breath) by using one word that replaces others. Here’s an example:

The “Safe” example:  “Man, your dilemma is really messed up!”

F-bomb example: “Man, that’s f*cked up!”

See! Using the F-bomb allows one to do their part by going GREEN in their conversation. If you’re writing, that’s one less tree branch that gets turned into paper (or an extra piece of paper for later). If you’re texting, that’s a few characters saved. If you’re talking. Well. You’re conversation just got a little more interesting (or you’re that much closer to the end of the conversation). So many benefits, man.

UNIVERSALLY UNDERSTOOD. This word is universal. Even those who don’t use it know what it means when it’s used. Sure, you could waste your time playing it safe by over-emphasizing “messed up”. Yeah sure. Go ‘head! They’ll never “feel you”. Because saying how “messed up” something is begs the question: “what’s wrong?”  So now you’re telling the story watching the listener’s reaction change with every detail until finally they’re able to comment. And if they’re a cussword user, they’ll probably say “Now that’s f*cked up!”

IN CONCLUSION…So stop wasting everyone’s time and get to the point. If it’s f*cked up then say that! It’s ok! Own it! You’ll be a lot less stressed once the F-Bomb has been released.

Save a tree. F*ck it.