Today is free-for-all Friday, which means I get to blog on whatever my little heart desires. Today we are going to discuss my neurotic need to excel at everything.  I don’t know where this started. Perhaps it was elicited in the government brainwashing camps known as “elementary school.”

Come to think of it, my elementary schools, and middle schools and high schools all looked like correctional facilities. If you’re from Texas like me, then you know what I’m talking about. Forget the clock tower or traditional red brick or Greek columns or ivy, just…square. No windows (wouldn’t want anyone to escape), plain brick, surrounded by buckling asphalt and cheap hurricane fences. Which makes me wonder; if students show a changed attitude wearing uniforms, then what impact does the architecture of a school have? I mean, if you go to a high school that looks like the hallowed halls of academia, do you fare better than those of us condemned to four years indentured service at a school that looks like the only thing missing is a guard tower?

…but I digress.

I remember being a kid and all the cartoons promoted this agenda that if you just tried hard enough and set your mind to something, you, too, could be a superstar. Um…yeah, no. I have tested this theory. Despite years of hard work and therapy and self-flagellation:

I will never be graceful, well in a willowy delicate way at least. I took ballet for years, but somehow always looked like a Russian gymnast got mixed into the class by mistake. My bun never looked as prim and generally sat a tad off-center. My tights seemed to always be the wrong shade and my skirt was never tied on the correct side. Dainty and Kristen have never kept company in the same sentence.

I will never be good at sports. I was the last kid picked for every team. Okay, second to last behind the weird boy who didn’t bathe. I still have Dodgeball nightmares with William Shatner voiceovers chanting weakest link as I am repeatedly taken out first by the biggest boy in school–who of course hits me right in the FACE with the big rubber ball. *shivers*

I will never be good at sewing. My mother, God love her, taught me how to cross-stitch, and while I have successfully completed at least three bookmarks, all other works just looked like a tragic farming accident involving colored thread. Which leads me to the next thing I will never be good at. I will never quilt. If the terrorists blow up the world, I have guns, but someone else will have to make the blankets. Sorry.

I will never be good at having all my drawers organized. In fact, I secretly hate those people. You know who I’m talking about. People who actually can open a kitchen drawer and know what’s inside. *rolls eyes* Show offs. I can’t be sure, but I do believe they often hang out with those uppity I-have-no-water-spots-on-my-glass-shower-doors people. They hold secret ceremonies involving lemon zesters and apple corers as they dance by the light of Yankee Candles, and make sacrifices to a large pastiche of Martha Stuart.

It’s what I’ve heard anyway.

I will never be good at carving pumpkins into clever Jack-o-lanterns. I’m good for three triangles and a mouth that looks like a hair-lip repair gone all wrong before I cut myself with the $3 pumpkin knife that is supposed to be child-proof.

I will never present Christmas gifts that look as if they were professionally wrapped…unless I actually have them professionally wrapped.

I will never have a checkbook balanced to the penny or flexible hamstrings.

And all that stuff used to bother me. I dunno. Maybe as you get older it doesn’t mean as much or maybe you get better at not taking life so seriously. Perhaps we get better at seeing where we actually shine.

But, if I really think about it, I guess it’s okay to not be good at everything, because that means I will never be good at ignoring injustice. This means there is at least one person who will stand up for the little guy. I will never be good at overlooking those who need help. I think I am quite tragic when it comes to turning a blind eye to sick or injured animals. Thus, I believe I am doomed to a house full of loyal rescues for the remainder of my days. I will never be good at staying angry or holding a grudge. And likely, I will never, as long as I live, be good at giving up on grouchy friends, needy houseplants or neurotic pets. But that means they will always have someone in their corner. So I guess I don’t have to be perfect. It all evens out in the end :D.

What are some things you guys have always dreamed of being good at, but just never quite hit the mark?

Happy writing!

See you Monday…

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