But you’re perfect.
You’re always full of energy, ready to tackle any task with confidence, boldness, elegance, rightness, great hair and red lipstick for pizazz. From climbing mountains to consoling a friend, you make it all look so easy.
True, that’s just who I am, I don’t know any different
— it’s how my freak flag flies.
And, I need my beauty sleep; can you explain to me why we are here at 11:25pm?
I’ve been trying to find the perfect time to talk with you, all the right things to say, and get everything done so I could give you my full attention.
You mean all the important stuff like checking your phone a dozen times an hour, making applesauce, charm bags, and planning a spontaneous trip to the beach.
You caught me.
Most of the “to-dos” were tools of procrastination.
The truth is you intimidate me, and I admire you.
Why do I intimidate you?
You’re judgmental with out of this world expectations.
That was harsh!
And, I’m kind of impressed that you having finally coughed up your opinion.
You don’t feel like you should change, lighten-up.
You gotta be kidding.
I don’t joke about serious matters.
What the fuck, of course you should change.
I’m running in circles exhausted trying to be perfect for you, gain your approval, have you say,
“Wow Erica, that’s amazing, I couldn’t do it any better.”
I’m exhausted and angry.
That’s not really my problem.
I never asked you to hold me to such crippling esteem.
That is your choice, so don’t go pointing the finger blaming me for caging you in. Saving you from experiencing sadness, disappointment, grief, rejection
...it cramps my style.
Wait a bloody second, you mean to tell me that you’re life doesn’t revolve around mine?
Not one bit.
I have my own dinner parties to attend, loose ends to tie up in a pretty bow, and shit to shake off. But, you keep knocking on my door. If I don’t answer because I’m watching my chocolate souffle rise perfectly, you pout on my doorstep. If you call, and I answer, you put me on hold.
What are you bloody talking about?
You are me, you don’t have your own social circles and life purpose.
Oh contraire my dear one!
Oh yeah, what do you do all day.
I’m perfect all day.
Oh My God! Are we going to talk in circles all night?
Oh dear, you just don’t get it.
I spend all day being perfect so you don’t have to.
I’m like a sherpa, carrying the weight of perfectionism so you don’t have to. I’m perfect at it because that is my purpose, to be perfect.
I add the red lipstick because it has me feel sexy and sassy.
Let me get this straight…
This whole time I’ve procrastinated, stopped before I finished, never started, or abandoned ship because I couldn’t do it as good as you
— you were doing it perfectly so I could do it my own way.
You got it smart one.
You’ve been here all along to give me permission to simply try and possibly royally fuck up.
I had no idea.