Still no delivery from amazon dot com. I look mournfully at my mail box every evening when I come home. It tries to distract me with bills and catalogs but I am not distracted, no. I am bummed. I am so very, very bummed. I want my Book of Tiki. I wanted to take it to Las Vegas with me. All is sadness and severe disappointment. I need that book! Stop screwing around in Indiana, horrible UPS people, drive my book here immediately. I need some Tiki goodness. I'm all bummed out.
This may, in part, be due to post-midterm letdown, not that that's a clinical term. I just hate knowing I missed some questions because the test didn't ask the questions the way I expected. I did fine, really, but maybe if I'd studied harder, made flash cards, remembered to... no. No, this is a very bad path to head down. There is no point being so let down about missing four or five questions. It happens. I must get over this perfectionist streak. It only leads to absurd expectations. Being grade-obsessed is not good for me. I'm not back in school to get good grades. I'm looking to acquire an education, which I'm doing and which is a lot of fun now that Algebra's out of the way. I am trying to get my B.A., not impress people.
My perfectionism causes me to set high standards, but what good are impossibly high standards if everyone continually fails them, including me? I sometimes think I only keep them artificially high as an excuse to pass judgment and feel smug or convince myself I'm hot stuff. Which is great, until I once again fail to meet my own standards and feel completely wretched as a result. My conscience won't cut me much slack. But honestly, an A is an A whether I get a 99 or a 91. There has to be a point when I'm satisfied that I've done my best no matter how that translates into grades. Otherwise, I'll get that B.A. and wonder why I don't feel smart and proud and accomplished.
Being happy can be so complicated.
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