The other day I realized I am a walking oxymoron. Or paradox. Either works; the point is I'm something that's not supposed to exist. I make no sense. The reason for this? I'm a borderline perfectionist.
Think about it. A perfectionist is someone for whom everything must be exactly right and in its proper order. A borderline case is when some symptoms of a disorder appear, but not enough to be a "real" instance of it. [Note: Not to be confused with Borderline Personality Disorder. I'm using borderline in the non-clinical sense.] A borderline perfectionist is someone whose perfectionism isn't entirely there, but it's kind of there.
My own perfectionism isn't perfect. I tend to be perfectionist only in cases where it is both irrelevant and unwarranted. But when it comes to something that actually matters, I blow it off and do a half-baked job. And it's not just a question of confused priorities; my perfectionism emerges in places I never really intend it to.
Things that will trigger it:
1. Writing down words. As is obvious from a cursory glance of this diary, I am meticulous about spelling. I have no clue why; much of the time I could afford to use abbreviations or alternate spellings without issue. Yet even when attempting to write quickly I constantly write out every word in full, including numbers and even smilies.
2. Image editing. I love using Adobe PhotoShop (see, I spelled out the full brand name! Perfectionism again!), but have a bizarre compulsion to make every pixel exactly right. Including details I know will be unnoticeable in the final result. It's caused me to literally spend hours on stupid details like what hues coordinate, but on a positive note the quest for perfection has made me a total whiz at making great pictures.
3. Lining things up on a desk. Pens and pencils must fall exactly parallel to the side of the desk. Textbooks are shoved neatly to the far upper-left corner, never to the right. Trash is stacked in a neat pile until an opportunity to dispose of it arrives. Scissors and anything else are kept hidden in a bag or backpack to avoid "clutter" when not in use.
4. If I am in a room with a door, that door must be either completely closed or wide open at all times when not in use. Doors that are mostly closed but not shut, or slightly open, will not do.
Things that will not trigger it:
1. Keeping a tidy room. 70% of everything in my room is junk, and I am honestly scared to clean up part of my closet. I bet there's fossils from the Precambrian period in there, along with half of Tibet and a cricket refugee camp.
2. Looking good in public. So long as I'm clean, decently dressed, and don't look like something out of Barnum and Bailey's, I'm good to go. I am too lazy to put on make-up or style my hair (which still is presentable- thanks, curls! I comb it in the shower instead.)
Like I said...My too-mild-to-get-welfare-on perfectionist tendencies show up in the strangest, most useless places. I'm counting my blessings I don't have a mental disorder that can actually interfere with my life, except perhaps being Evil, but I'm quite content to be the antagonist, so that's alright then. One of the nice things about being Evil is that it's very, very easy to live with.
Anyway, I'm going back to procrastinating on that English project I've been assigned by Randy!!
Sica
