Contents Under Pressure

Lately I've noticed that I put a whole lot of pressure on myself that is completely unnecessary. I spend so much time worrying about shit that couldn't possibly matter to anyone but myself, it's ridiculous. And if no one else is going to worry about it, why the hell do I care? So I'm trying to lighten up a bit.

I can remember a few years ago, right around the time that I met Bruce, I concentrated really hard and let myself let go of the things that really don't matter, and I was so incredibly happy and that's when it seemed like everything came together in my life. I lost about forty (doesn't forty always seem like it should have a 'U'?) pounds, I was constantly in a good mood, I was nice to everyone around me, always, and I was totally only seeing the good in people all the time. Plus, everyone loved me. Of course they did, it's so stupid to be surprised by that, but I am. Of course everyone loved me when I was always happy and bubbly and nice to everyone.

For some reason my mind always wants to tell me that it's because I was skinny then that everyone liked me, and for Pete's sake! God, get a grip! People don't like people because they're skinny. They like people because they're nice and fun and happy, that's why they like them. I want to be that nice, fun, happy girl again.

I figure it's only a matter of taking the time to convince myself not to freak out about the tiny things that only matter to me and to just plain act happy and fun and nice, because if I act like I'm all of those things eventually I'll forget that it's all an act and it'll be second nature.

I need to start seeing the everyday humor in the stuff around me, too. Example: Earlier in the evening I had to look on the internet to see if we should take Huck to the vet for his diarrhea, and I came across a really cool website that helped me stop freaking out about it. Here's the website. Anyway, I just came back to the computer to write this entry, and I noticed that the search term I used was "diahhrea dog". Come on, that's pretty funny. Nobody wants to pet that dog. I picture a poor little sickly animal all dripping in poop. Poop is funny. (I was going to lie and claim that I typed in "diarrhea" - correctly spelt - but I figure no one would believe me. I don't believe anyone knows how to spell that word.

I'm also going to start indulging myself in things more often. I'm a hoarder - when I find something I really like, I treasure it and barely use it because I don't want to waste it. I don't know what sense that makes, especially in the case of nice smelling lotions or body wash or something. I love Bath and Body Works' Moonlit Path, but I never ever wear it because I don't want it to go to waste. It's hardly going to waste if I'm smelling nice and I feel better about myself because I know I smell awesome, is it?

My other neurosis about using stuff like that is somehow I think that if I smell great all the time that it'll stop being special, or that if I forget then Bruce will be upset or something. That's so ridiculous I don't even need to dignify it with a response. (Did you notice how I'm totally having a strange sort of agruement with myself here?) I'm so weird about stuff like that, and it's time to stop. I need to just let myself enjoy things. I'm going to try to do that.