I’m the Worst

Though there are many reasons why the television sitcom, Friends, is grossly outdated, there are still many topics and themes that can still be applied to life in 2015. For example, I was watching an episode earlier this week and Chandler, who was dating Monica at this point in the series, found out just how bad she was at giving massages. Because he was afraid to tell her the truth for fear of hurting her feelings, Chandler never told her and Monica didn’t find out until Phoebe told her so. Monica, an extremely competitive person, was very upset because she likes to be the best at everything, so Chandler pointed out to her that she was the best at giving the worst massages. Problem solved.

This got me thinking, “What am I the worst at?” As victims of retail marketing, we concentrate on everything being bigger, better, faster, and/or lighter these days and so to really embrace the level at which we suck at something might be fairly refreshing. This was an amusing and deep exercise for me, because I am very competitive and strive for the highest level of excellence, like Monica. I’ve come up with a few ideas though, as to how I suck.

For example, I may just be the worst morning person ever.  I am terrible at getting up in the morning. I hate alarm clocks and I despise having to get out of bed when I’m still tired. As someone with Fibromyalgia who faces fatigue daily, I’m tired a lot. How tired? Imagine you have the flu, think of the fatigue that cripples you and makes you want to spend the day on the couch. Got it? Multiply it by five. Now you know what it’s like to live with the fatigue of Fibro. So, getting out of bed while I’m still tired puts me in a bad mood from the moment I get up, which usually occurs in the afternoon.

You see, another thing that I’m terrible at is maintaining a proper sleep schedule. Even before the insomnia (ironically associated with Fibro) came calling, I was always a night owl. There’s something about the peace and quiet that I revel in while my husband and kids are in bed. The animal residents of the house are typically calmer too, notwithstanding the lurking that my cats do in the hours of darkness. Even now, as I write this, it is evening, and I feel I can concentrate more without the harsh light of day streaming in the windows of my office.

Unless it’s something that I’m really excited to finish, I am the worst at completing tasks. Even so, I will pick up new hobbies and be over the moon about them, running to whatever store or Super-store that carries the materials necessary, buy EVERYTHING I might need to accomplish unnamed hobby, and begin the project with zeal.  However, in time, life gets in the way and I don’t have the energy to push myself to continue.  There are dusty, unfinished cross-stitching projects in the basement, scarves half-knitted lying forgotten in a bag in the corner, and a crochet book and hooks still in the plastic casing that enclosed them when I bought them. I have started Paint-by-Number pieces, because I also completely suck at painting, and can never complete them because even when I go back to them after months of inactivity, I cannot locate the little containers of paint with the correct corresponding numbers.

Painting is not the only thing that I fail at in the art world. I am absolutely lousy at drawing or sketching, painting, or anything that requires my hands to take a picture from my mind and convert it onto some willing medium. Sure, I can paint the hell out of a wall or some furniture, but that doesn’t take very much imagination. If you want me to paint some happy little trees next to a mountain, you’ll be waiting forever if you want it to look nice.

Lately, one task I find that I am constantly fighting a losing battle with is my journey to lose weight. I take handfuls of medication every day for my Fibro, and many of them contribute to weight gain. Eating a better diet, moving more, and cutting out all sweets doesn’t do the trick. My body hates me. Medications hate my body.  I am currently into my second month of a three month long, doctor-monitored weight loss program and have seen little success.  The first week, I lost about 10 pounds. Great! What a hell of a start, right? No. The second week, I gained back a pound, followed by the third and fourth week, where I gained back two and three pounds, respectively. I stand at a total of four pounds lost in a month.  I have followed the low-carb, low-fat diet and I am going crazy, and why? Because there’s no other way.

Although I’ve tried an succeeded at many sports in my life, like soccer, swimming, field hockey, softball, and even archery, which I can do left- or right-handed, I am terrible at basketball. I can dribble, but not well. I can pass, but not far. I can shoot…no, no I can’t. I can’t make a free throw, I can’t make a lay-up, and I certainly can’t make a three-point-shot to save my life. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m terrible at it, or because I don’t think much of it as a sport, but regardless of the feeling of excitement that March Madness injects into nearly every other sports fan in this country, I’m more than satisfied to watch hockey, wondering who will clinch the last available slots in the playoffs.

My husband tells me I’m intolerant of people, but I will offer this caveat: I’m only intolerant of people who are extremely different than me. Of course this doesn’t apply to people who are a different race, religion, or even have a different sexual preference than me. I accept them with no problem and no hatred. Instead, the people who get on my nerves are the ones who for example, don’t signal their blinkers when turning or changing lanes, the people who don’t use proper grammar, the people who use religion as an excuse to treat others badly, and people who, while harming no one, don’t make any sense to me.  Southerners, cheerleaders, people who wear camouflage clothing when they aren’t hunting or in the military, people who are inappropriately dressed, whether it’s wearing pajamas or slippers to the store, or a mini-skirt and heels to an amusement park: every last one of these people work on my nerves, and I don’t even know them. They could be fine, wonderful people, but I judge them, most of the time as idiots, and have a hard time forgiving and forgetting their transgressions.

Most people find it difficult to list their talents or to compliment themselves at job interviews or on resumes, but I find it tougher to list those things where I not only need improvement, but that I’m terrible at doing. However, just thinking about those things, trying to find all the ways in which I am horrible, I find that I am satisfied with where I excel, what I do well, and how I’m better than you.

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