Why do I ruin perfectly good times with overly much inspection? Is it just the nature of a woman to be paranoid and obsessive? Why, after enjoying a WONDERFUL evening with two friends, did I find myself going from thoughts at 10pm of "I want to do that again as soon as possible" only to awaken at 2am with the thoughts of all the stupid things that I said and wondering if I will ever get to be done with humanity and the corresponding humiliation altogether. Why do I obsess over and dread social events where my role and script aren’t pre-mapped out so that I can practice?

Pride. That’s all it is. The desire to be perfect and if not better than at least as proficient as the rest of humanity. The frustration with imperfection in a self that I want to be perfected now. Sanctified completely. Immediately.

Pride is a curse. It’s a drudgery. And it’s yet another reason why heaven is so appealing. No more pride. Perfect humility. Perfect love. Perfect relationships. No more concerns about my finesse with English language and social graces.

Suddenly I wonder if this is why blogging and computers are so appealing. Instant remedy for mistakes. Plenty of forethought to make sure the wording and meaning are correct and understandable. No chance for anyone to throw off my rhythm, mess with my script. It’s easy. No fuss, no mess, no real people. Just words on a screen. Words are much less threatening. Except maybe the word troglodyte which has an intimidating combination of letters. Much more forgiving. Except maybe the word rhythm, which I have ALWAYS and will FOREVER CONTINUE to spell with two ‘y’s only to be very unforgivingly reminded to fix it by the squiggly red line of imperfection..

In any case, there are always children (who don’t have any firmer grasp on social graces and linguistics than I do) and the ‘fairly to very’ elderly crowd (who often can’t hear me well enough to judge my language skills and are either forgiving of everything either because they are lonely enough to take what they can get or have lived long enough to perfect that ability or are already bitter about everything, in which case, it takes the pressure off.)

Which begs the new concern… I hope I’m finally comfortable with people my own age when I’m old. Then again, I suppose everyone else will be "children" by that time, huh?

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