– feeds your head

please take care of me

I wish I had someone who took care of me. And when I say take care, I don’t mean take care as in nurture, I mean take care as in book that long overdue appointment with my taxman, clean up all the papers on my desk, do my laundry and paint my bedroom. Someone who could just take care of all the shit I never get around to doing until it’s almost too late. I need a life administrator, a personal assistant, someone to take care of all my bullshit. Someone who takes care of me and the mess I create. And yes, it does sound very much like wanting to have a partner or a parent. There are plenty of people who live their lives like that. But unfortunately I am not one of those people. Nor do I want to be. I was never really all that ok with having parents in the first place and the ones do I have are completely useless in all of the above areas. In fact, they would need the exact same assistance. And I suppose this statement could lead one to assume that my condition might have some sort of hereditary aspect, an assumption that could also very well be absolutely correct, but even if that is the case it doesn’t really bring me any closer the solution of my issue, so what ever. Plus, I am really way too old for parents. I need to look for the solution somewhere else.

So considering my age, a partner would be more reasonable. But the partner thing brings with it a lot of the same issues that I have with the whole parent concept, the biggest one being my aversion to being told what to do. I just don’t cope very well with other people’s opinions and wishes being imposed on me. And this is the reason why a partner is out of the question here. If you want someone you have an emotional relationship with to do shit for you that means you are also giving him or her the right to have opinions about your shit. And I don’t like that. I very much like people to stay out of my shit. And this is where the whole assistance concept gets tricky. Because as nice it is when you come home to a cooked meal, it doesn’t make up for the opinions about your eating habits that will follow. And yes, I do understand that’s an example of someone caring about you, but again, it doesn’t make it less annoying. The point is that if you let someone you are emotionally involved with help you sort your shit out it get’s a whole lot harder to tell them to fuck off when they get in too deep. The line gets blurred. If you let them get in with the taxman, you can’t kick them out with the food so to speak. Yes, it’s all done out of love, sure, but nagging is nagging even if you wrap it up real nice with a huge big heart on the box. And I don’t respond well to nagging. In fact I am very touchy about it. In my world stating the same opinion about my shit more than once constitutes nagging. This is especially true if I have any type of involvement on a romance level with the person airing the opinion. And when the opinions are about my very personal disaster zone it gets critical very fast. It’s like this completely irrational side of me wakes up and screams “you are supposed to love me regardless of everything you asshole” and slams the door and leaves the room. Usually that side also takes the rest of me with it when it leaves. Yes, I am very touchy. Some might say overly so, but I just get very annoyed when people start poking around where they have no business being. Like in my shit. I don’t like it. I wanted it sorted, not commented on.

And this is precisely why I don’t like it when people try to reason with me about the fact that it does actually make more sense to just pick up the phone and make that call and have it be over and done with immediately instead of stressing about it for weeks. No shit Sherlock… I may be a monstrous procrastinator, but I am not stupid. I know exactly how to build the argument to make the behavior attractive; I know all the reasons, all the rewards. I actually used to do that shit for a living! I can do it my sleep. And logical reasoning is not my problem, it never was. My problem is convincing myself to actually go from thought to action. And with me, that process can only be initiated at gunpoint. Only when it’s almost too late will I spring into action. And the fact that I am then able pull shit of in record time is not a good motivator. Quite the opposite. Knowing this about myself leads to delusions of grandeur. Delusion being the key word here… For instance thinking I can bend time: “Sure I can have that done by tomorrow. No problem.” And no sleep, food or toilet visits… Or maybe it’s my subconscious trying to force me to fail so bad that I’ll get scared straight. I am always my worst enemy. Which brings me back to the original statement: I need someone to take care of me. Someone to protect me from myself. Someone who will make that stupid phone call, sort all those papers, do my laundry and pay my rent. Someone who just sorts out all my shit without getting judgmental about it. Someone who doesn’t feel they need to help me help myself. I don’t want to be helped to help myself, I just want some fucking help! I want someone to sort my shit out. If you try to help me help myself that’s just passing it all back to me but I actually want someone to do it for me. As in I don’t actually have to do it myself. At all. That’s what I want. To be rid of it. Call me lazy, naïve or loser, but I just want someone to sort out my shit without commentary.  Too bad I’m not rich…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: