Thursday, January 27, 2011

The Longer You Think

An old Irish curse:

May those that love us, love us,
and those that don't love us,
may God turn their hearts;
if he can't turn their hearts,
may he turn their ankles,
so we'll know them by their limping.

Now, I don't know how credible that is as an actual Irish curse, since I found it in a picture on the Internet, but I really like it.

So, the other day on my lovely anniversary, Max was whispering many lovely things in my ear. Hahaha, not those kinds of things, but he does do that too and I like those just as much. Actually, this time he wasn't so much whispering as he was... speaking... on the bus. Yeah. Anyway, he was spending our commute telling me how brilliant and talented I am. Now, I know I act like a confident.... I'm struggling with a word here. I was going to go with dickbag, but say that word a few times to yourself, slowly. It's rather vulgar, even for a lady of my distinction. Douchebag doesn't seem quite right either, because I don't quite fit the criteria for a douchebag (not lack of popped collar). I'm going to go with twit.

SO, I know I act like a confident twit most of the time, but I'm really not. At all. I struggle a lot with even managing to like myself. And it sucks. I can't really escape it. Every time I go outside, if I hear someone laughing near me, I assume they're laughing at me. Yeah, I don't go outside a whole lot anymore.
A lot of it has to do with how I look. Mostly, I think I'm a fat, average looking girl. There are things I DO like about myself (my eyes, my lips) but there are many, many more things I don't like about myself. I know I can fix this. I know I can get in shape. And I will. I have to, or I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus, haha! Aww, I shouldn't joke about that, people actually do kill themselves over their looks.

The other big part is that I am self-conscious of the things I create. Any time I write something or draw something, or sing or play an instrument, there's always the I'm not good enough playing on repeat it my head. It's awful. I want to be perfect. I want to be the best. But I don't think I can. My least favourite word is practice. I'm used to being good at things on the first go, and if I'm not, then it's clearly not worth my time.

But Max always knows how to talk to me. He was appealing to my ego yesterday, the clever thing. So, today I took action. I called Langara to reserve a spot for myself at an info session for their Fine Arts program. It starts off with the basics, which is what I need. I've never had any sort of classic art training, which I think would help the cause. That program is 2 year long, after which I receive a diploma, and then I am taking that diploma and getting into the IDEA program at Capilano University, which will take another 3 years to complete.

I'm nervous! But I want this.

See, today I realized what causes all my problems. The revelation actually came to me today when I was listening to the song that shares it's name with this blog: Talking Bird by Death Cab For Cutie.

The longer you think, the less you know what to do.

And that right there is my problem. I think way too hard about everything. Naturally, if you think about things too much, you will find flaws. You will find doubts. You will create issues. And then you just worry and worry until you convince yourself that it was a dumb idea in the first place. And that's stupid.

So, new Lisa is going to stop that. I took action today, and I am going to continue to do so.

Ahh, wrist-aches again! What is wrong?! Time for wrist braces once more...

PS. Today a woman told me that her husband was dying. It's "a matter of months". Why do I attract these sad, sad people? Is it something about my face?

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