To be unable to accept a compliment, yet strut like my stuff is pure gold. To be painfully aware of the spread of alll of me, yet to be able to feel like a desert rose. To look in the mirror and say WOW…that’s a snazzy chick, and to feel like I need to be wearing a burlap sack when I leave the house.
This is partially where the whole claiming Jazzy thing came from. I feel like she embodies the optimistic, happy, secure, loving, sexy & self-supporting part of me, while…*insert real name here* is the dowdy, hopeless, confused, nervous, burnt & paranoid part of me. Maybe it is just infatuation, the appeal of the new, or maybe it is the whole ‘dream image’ thing going on, but…I have these two roughly polar ‘people’ in my head, who while are basically the same person, have some amazing differences in how the see the world and themselves.
It’s Jazzy who is secure and happy with Chef, and it’s INRH who is paranoid about the whole thing. It’s Jazzy who appreciates the curves she has, and it INRH who stares and focuses on the curves she shouldn’t have.
Excuse this following moment of madness
*runs around madly like a little rat in a cage* Oh my god oh my god oh my god. They expect me to do work and perform and come to conclusions and stuff ALLL BY MYSELF!!!! *little crazy person runs around screaming madly* AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*deep breath* okay. I feel better now
Argh. This job is, without a doubt, going to drive me batty. I need some structure, some order, a damn To-Do list.
*grumbles*
Stay Jazzed.
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