Skip to main content

Mess up, fess up.

I'll have to remember that title; it's probably wasted on this. Or maybe--just maybe!--this'll actually be the last time I mess up like this! Yeah!

So Friday I was supposed to meet with my sponsor. Somehow I also got in my head I was finally going to get my Learners Permit renewed. (Yeah, about that. Long story. Try to suspend judgment until I can get through this. Speaking of which, why is this so difficult? It can't just be the whole honesty thing. I've gotten plenty good at self-effacing honesty--humility, too, evidently. Unfocused? Maybe. Probably. Oh well.)

Maybe it was that my sponsor wanted to slide our normal meeting time up a little; maybe it was that old familiar irrational nervousness about the MVA; maybe it was trying to plot out things in the evening time-line. Whatever it was, it all went down like dominoes.

I "dodged" the MVA even after securing ride possibilities from my dad to simplify things. I didn't get in touch with my sponsor nevermind notify him I was skipping our meeting. And I slept--through the meeting I'd wanted to go to. And then I just felt shitty and egoistic; I didn't fess up to anyone even though I knew I needed to. I didn't want to deal with any of it. The squirreled up feelings or the guilt or the stupidness of it.

I still haven't called my sponsor. Poor guy, has to put up with this shit from me plenty enough, I'm sure. Still, I owe it to him. Whether he's tapping his foot impatiently or not, expecting it or not, I do owe it to him.

It's honest, and it's grown up. Give the guy a call. Admit I fucked up. No outlandish promises--no "ne'er agains"--necessary. Simple enough.

Goddamn me for being such a people pleaser. If for one minute I could stop running on other people's approval, I might actually learn to approve of myself or be content or become reliable-ish. I should work on that.

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

QP: Changes to come, I hope.

My grandmother passed away about 2 weeks ago. I hope to write about her more soon, but for this moment, I want to speak briefly about where I'm at overall: Her passing has led me to reevaluate aspects of my life because I'm realizing that the status quo amounts to just wasting my life away.

(This is another "quick post," which means it's a short update that I likely didn't edit and revise quite as much as the more "thoughtful" pieces I aim for. I say this because I'm self-conscious and worry that you, my reader, will judge me!)

I'm up in Boston and have today and tomorrow off, and I want to spend at least a portion of each day figuring out (some of) my life. I say this fully aware how often I've variously done so before: asserted a need for change, described how I was going to do it, made an attempt, then fallen off in the follow-through. I'm honestly not sure what to do about that, though. It frustrates me now just as much as ever, e…

A Valentine's Special.

Yeah, I'm one of those guys who's never really been with someone around Valentine's. I am sometimes baffled how other people manage these things--and why I can't. To be fair, it's probably as much my not trying enough and trying too hard as it is anything pariticularly wrong with me. Like, I know I don't get myself out there enough to meet guys and when I do it's probably compensatory and usually flawed from the start.

The other question is--why does it matter so much to me? Evidently it seems like something I want but something I'm scared of, too. It may also be something I'm just not very good at. I'm secretly timid and fearful of most confrontation and directness. For all my communication skills, I always seem to chicken out when it comes to talking to guys in a healthy, sustaining way. I'm a dreamer who wants something nice badly enough to stick to something for the concept of having it more than the reality of dealing with it; I want to…