Robot

Oh friends, I have so far to go.

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I just spent an hour sobbing to my therapist and saying things like “I hate being a work in progress… But that is what being a human IS!” I joke with friends and coworkers sometimes that I have a never-ending pursuit of becoming a robot, and what I mean by that is “cracking the code,” figuring out the “perfect” routine, the perfect process and schedule and even meal. It’s like I want to boil life down into “if I get up every day at this time and I eat this exact meal twice a day and I write from this time to this time and I go to sleep by midnight,” I will have figured out the secret of the universe of how to be a successful and perfect robot. I mean… Human.

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I always say I’m a recovering perfectionist. Days like today feel like an absolute faceplant into realizing what a grip it still has on me. I don’t want to be loved by tens or hundreds. I want to be loved BY ALL.

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Basically, I want life to not function like life does. I want myself to not function like I do. I want to be flawless, and I hate even that desire because I know in my heart how foolish it is.

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So then I wallow in my failures. As a friend, a writer, a worker, a body. As a not-yet-robot. As someone who has stupid goals of “becoming a robot.”

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And so, back to the drawing board, right? For me, that’s always prayer and rest and lists. Robots don’t pray or rest, so honestly, what a horrible thing to want.

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