So, completely off the topic, my other best friend is coming down to visit at the end of the month. This particular best friend lives in New York, and we only see her twice a year. We're pretty lucky to see her that much... and with gas rapidly approaching the $5 a gallon price-sticker, I don't know how much longer these road trips will continue.
[I have four best friends. This fact drives my other other best friend somewhat nuts, but at this point, she's been my best friend for seventeen years - oh, my dear GOD, has it really been seventeen years? She's probably getting a giggle about that, since I've been emphasizing the length of time we've known each other for a long time because it makes her uncomfortable about how old we are, and now the actual years, months, days (17 years/204 months/6,190 days) of it is completely flooring me. I don't know why... ah well, I'm old. I knew that - and she's used to it by now. The word favorite has never really clicked with me. What's my favorite color? Green, that nice minty shade. Or sometimes lime-colored green, or that deep forest green, and you know maroon is a nice color too, and I particularly like the way I look in navy blue, and there's nothing wrong with a rich shade of royal purple... My favorite band? Jethro Tull and Bob Dylan and Old 97's and Cowboy Mouth and Dire Straits and Indigo Girls and... you get the picture, I'm sure...]
I'm rambling. I had a point, but I misplaced it, so watch where you step, ok?
So, we're talking about regaining my enthusiasm..
I'm going to have 4 contests (yes, with prizes!) open to readers while I attempt to recapture my enthusiasm. (Don't step on that, either. It's probably not as sharp as my point, but it's fragile and I don't want it broken.)
This week's contest is about convincing myself that I deserve this!
I was talking to Thomas the other day about my flagging motivation. Despite the fact that he doesn't feel the same problems that I do, he always listens to me. And he almost always takes me seriously. This is a good thing. After being relegated to the bottom of the importance heap in my childhood (behind work, television, baseball, his work, television, and his wife... I came up in my father's life a distance 7th when I was in trouble, and not at all if I wasn't. My father was a great believer in "Children should neither be heard, nor seen." Weeks went by when I exchanged no more than the occasional greeting with the man.) if there's one thing in this world I won't tolerate, it's being ignored.
He listened, nodded in all the right places, then asked a single pointed question that I hadn't even considered.
"Are you scared?"
"What?" I wrenched my eyes up from their determined contemplation of his mouth. (First of all, I have trouble meeting someone's eye when I'm trying not to cry, and since I'm one of those people who can cry at the drop of a hat, I learned a long time ago to look carefully at someone's forehead, or their mouth. Most people can't tell, and it helps me keep a handle on the waterworks. Secondly, Thomas has the most wonderful, lush, sybaritic mouth, and I adore watching him talk. Ok, yes, even after 11 years together, I am still disgustingly in love with my husband. Get over it.)
He's rather relentless when he thinks he's on the right track. "You don't feel like you deserve to be thin. You feel like you're a failure, and since you haven't failed yet, you are contemplating sabotaging yourself in order to let that nasty little voice be able to say 'I told you so.' I've been watching you recently. When you're not thinking too hard about it, you're perfectly happy to look in the mirror and admire yourself. And as soon as you start thinking too much, you slump over and you won't look at yourself and you start up with the list of why you think you're unattractive."
Well, now I'm a bit pissed.
"Being thin is not going to make me beautiful," I say.
"It doesn't need to," he says. "You're already beautiful."
"You, my dear, are biased."
"I wasn't biased when we met, and you were beautiful then, too." (He's quite right about that. With Thomas and I, there wasn't any love at first sight. More like Intense Loathing. And Wanting to Kill the Other Person. If nothing else, you can say we both make really... lasting first impressions. Even if we did have to be literally dragged apart so we wouldn't start brawling...)
I'm surprised. "You thought that?"
"Okay, well, maybe not exactly when you were threatening to claw my eyes out. But, maybe the second or third time I saw you. Why do you think I kept showing up, knowing you were there. It was because you were so beautiful when you were angry that it was worth you being angry with me, just to see it."
Looking at his mouth is no longer enough. I start crying.
So, this week's Contest is: I Deserve It!
Every day this week (Today being Wednesday, and running until Tuesday, June 10th) I'm going to post about something I like about myself.
I'm also going to buy a packet of gold stars, and every time I do something right - anything right, diet, housekeeping, attitude, exercise, compliment someone else, compliment myself - I'm going to give myself a gold star. Because I deserve it. Because I'm worth it. Because I can do it.
This week, I'm going to know that I am right more often than I am wrong, better than I am bad, and nicer than I am nasty.
So, if you want to enter my Challenge; I Got it Going On! Leave a comment. Tell me what you like about yourself. What small accomplishments you've had today. What nice things you've done today and what a great person YOU are. Why you're beautiful, why you're special, and why you are worth it. Better yet, link me a blog entry about why you deserve it.
There will be a random prize drawn for one commenter over the week, and one prize for the best-written, most moving entry I receive. (I haven't chosen these prizes yet. I'll get them while I'm out buying my gold-stars)
Today, I have got it going on!
I love my hair. It's long and thick and strong, and unless certain people are tugging on it and saying "Oh, I love your cute little ponytails", it stays where I put it with a minimum of product. I love brushing it, and I love it when people run their fingers through it. (Well, as long as I know you relatively well....) I also love my eyebrows and my eyelashes. My mom used to accuse me of stealing her mascara when I was younger. I have never used mascara. I don't need to. I don't tweeze or pluck at my eyebrows. I think they look great exactly the way they are.