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I didn’t think this through…

Today, for the first time, I realized that if even if just half the proposals I’ve put out get picked up, I’m going to need help. I’ll need other professionals, people I trust with higher level work. But I’m going to need warm bodies to attend meetings on my behalf, take pics, update documents, and pretty much just do assisting work.

I’m going to need an assistant. That’s a scary thought.

I don’t have the slightest idea how I’ll do this. If the proposals get picked up. If I start getting paid enough that I can pay others. If, if, if …

Why didn’t I realize this sooner? I think I had a mental block about it. The entire “being an entrepreneur” process has produced some sort of block in my normal processes. I just don’t want to take next steps. I just don’t want to do what needs to be done.

Can I just get paid to watch Netflix while I update my social networks? Wait, I can … just not enough to pay my bills … at least not yet.

If I do have to hire people, I’ll deal with it. That’s what employment agencies are for.

Now I’m going to hope to make enough money to pay my bills and still have enough to pay for help.

Image source: Kaboompics / Pixabay

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The things my friends may not know about me

I’m easily distracted. I’ll pick up my phone to look for something and realize ten minutes later, after putting it down, that I didn’t look for the item.

I’m very bad with money. I get a little bit and the compulsion to spend it is immediate and often almost overwhelming. I’m shocked I’ve managed to save any money at all.

I don’t remember what I wore yesterday, or last week, or to the last gala. When I work in an office I keep a journal documenting what I wore and when. Otherwise I run the risk of wearing the same outfit two weeks in a row. While that doesn’t bother me, it seems to matter to others.

At least 30% of the time I have to drive back to my house after leaving because I can’t remember if I closed the garage door. Usually I’ve only made it a block or so from the house, but I just can’t remember doing it. I’ve never found the garage door open when going back to check.

I have a hard time remembering faces or names. I worked with someone for 12 years and can’t tell you the names of her parents, siblings, or nieces and nephews. And she talked about them all the time. I met someone on at least six different occasions and still couldn’t recognize her the next time I saw her; once I clued in on who she was, the details of the conversation are easy to remember. This happens to me all the time.

I consider lies to be acceptable as long as they are for the greater good. Sometimes my convenience qualifies as the greater good.

Everything time I do something there’s a thought in the back of my head telling me I will fail. The bigger the project or task, the louder it gets.

I am colder than you think.

When I lived alone I often realized that I had spent the entire weekend without speaking to another human being. Sometimes I realized that I hadn’t spoken out loud, at all, in those two days.

I have a mild hoarding problem. I once had a panic attack over the thought of throwing out a box of things I didn’t need. I made myself do it anyway.

I’m a horrid housekeeper. One of the main reasons I don’t have people over more often is that I’ll never get the house clean enough for company. If I truly cared, I’d clean better. I just don’t want to be judged.

I’m not comfortable with the way I look. I hate that I buy into it, but there’s always going to be a part of me that wants to look closer to the ideal of beauty.

I have three closets full of clothes. Yes, three.

I own more than a 20 shades of lipstick, and at least half of then are some variation of red. I rarely wear them, now.

I can be mean and petty. And I’m fine with it.

I obsess over big decisions.

I have weird sleeping patterns … which means I find myself writing blog posts at 4 a.m.

Image source: realworkhard / Pixabay

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An unexpectedly bad day…

The best things in life are free  ... www.palomacruz.com
Someone needs to explain to me that everything that goes up must come down … before I crash down. {{sigh}} I didn’t crash today, but I did have a rough landing.

I cracked a filling, again. The same one I cracked last year. And I don’t have dental insurance right now because I thought it would be a good idea to quit my job.

I’m not out of money yet. Nowhere near, yet. But I’m realizing I’m going to be out of money a lot quicker than I thought.

Just a little bit of a depressing thought.  I’ll be better once my tooth has stopped aching; so I’ll be better next week.

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I am my own worst critic, A.K.A. who is that fat girl in the photo?

I am my own worst critic, A.K.A. who is that fat girl in the photo? (more info at palomacruz.com)

“Big.” “Chunky.” “Plus-sized.” These are all words my loved ones would use to describe my appearance. Others would just call me “fat.” The medical community would use the word “obese.”

Strangers and acquaintances alike take it upon themselves to try to shame me, to make me understand the way that I’m destroying the world by insisting on being fat. There’s an entire industry (several, in fact) dedicated to trying to solve this problem for me. And I’m told every day, in many many ways, that if I just stopped being fat I would be better, happier.

Most days I manage to drown out the external and internal voices that try incessantly to let me know that I’m a failure, that every “extra” pound is one more mark against me. Most days I’m just louder than the voices, so they don’t make an impact on my day. Some days I’m not.

I want to have the courage to wear a bright red fitted dress without thinking about the muffin top or the love handles. I want to have the boldness to have my photo taken without dreading the split second where I see just how fat I am compared to the others. I want to stop seeing myself, and judging myself, through the eyes of others. I want to stop it all … now.

And I don’t mean that I want to lose weight (though I want that too). And I don’t mean that I want better clothes (though I always want new clothes). I just want to love who I am, in my current size and shape, without having to work at it.

I guess when I achieve that I’ll know I’m actually, finally, a grown up.

In the meanwhile, I’ve challenged myself to try to take more selfies … and I’ve been failing at that too. But I will get better. And I will keep trying. At some point I’ll stop dreading the photo … eventually.

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