Keeping true to tradition, I am once again writing this post from *drum roll* – you guessed it! Starbucks. However, something has changed. I no longer sit at Starbucks because it’s the closest thing to home, now I sit at Starbucks to get some time away from “home”. My, how things have changed…
Although I have been very lucky to find this place where I now live, practically for free, practically in central London, I must admit that the situation is… difficult for me. It’s quite uncomfortable moving into someone else’s home in general, but the feeling is heightened by my never knowing quite what is expected of me. And I really don’t like it. I like to have my work load, and what is expected of me, written out crystal clear. I like to know what I should do, when I should do it and how it should be done. And this situation is so… diffuse.
When I’m in the house, I can’t really seem to relax one hundred percent, as I always feel like I should be doing something, doing more, to “earn” my staying there. Like I’m constantly at work. And when I do my chores I feel like I’m not doing them well enough, as the gentleman I am living with is very particular about how he wants things done and where things should be. Very particular. So most likely when I perform a task, he will come around later and do it all over again, because I didn’t do it right. Or I didn’t do it well enough. I really hate that. It’s like staring in a new job and not getting any training, you only get told off every time you make a mistake.
Of course, I know he’s an old man who is set in his ways, and I know that when you’re older you appreciate routine and familiarity. And some people are just more detail oriented than others, which is absolutely fine.
The problem is me. I just have a serious dutiful-good-girl syndrome that makes me unable to handle being anything less than perfect. I’m not very good with criticism, although I would like to be. I know constructive criticism is good. I know it’s meant to be helpful and something to learn by, but truthfully it makes me feel like a total failure. I need to be perfect. I need to be good enough. I need to master everything immediately. I need to be efficient and faultless. And of course, I’m not. I’m only human after all. It’s ridiculous, but I’ve always been like this though.
The problem is me because I’m not very tidy or fussy. I’m not squeamish and I don’t have an eye for that sort of detail. I don’t see it. I couldn’t care less if the spoons were sorted by size in the cutlery drawer. It makes no difference to me if a dirty stain is left on the kitchen bench over night. I never notice if the hand towel hangs a little crooked on the peg in the bathroom and I don’t see why certain plates need to go certain places in the dish washer, when they clean all the same anywhere. I just don’t see it. I am sort of proud, by in this case a little frustrated, to say that I would make an absolutely atrocious housewife. I was not made for that life.
WHY AM I LIKE THIS? The one question I ask myself an infinite number of times every single day. I just need to pull myself together and stop focusing on the negative. Keep telling myself that I’ve only been here a week, and nobody expects me to be fully accomplished in that short a time. Just need to get that super memory that got me effortlessly through 13 years of school without ever breaking a sweat back into gear and memorise all the ridiculous, tiny details so I can get it right. Think of the perks and benefits. Suck it up. Get your shit together.
Yep, that’s what I’m gonna do. Because what’s the alternative? Give up and go home?
On top of everything, the weather has gone from this