27 September 2003 - 1:12 a.m.

I've been reading a lot of Anne Lamott lately. Mostly because I'm angry ... largely with myself, though on occasion with the world in general. The reason I so completely adore this woman is that she consistently writes so eloquently about how flawed she is. Mostly, I've been reading her pieces on forgiveness (her piece in Salon this week is incredibly good ... about forgiveness and faith) and letting go. I'm not terribly good at either of these things. In fact I'm pretty much terribly AWFUL at them. I don't forgive people very easily or very much when I do forgive them. This has become especially evident when it's ME I'm not forgiving. I've been busy lately ... slightly overwhelmed and wondering if the shiny facade is wearing off, and I'm no longer as convincing as I once was. I keep slipping up and making tiny (or tremendous) errors in judgement and doing things normally I would shun. I'm not sure what the problem's been entirely. It could be that I miss my friends and I'm a little lonely. It could be that my sleep deprivation's caught up with me and I'm no longer capable of making good decisions. Regardless, the worst part of these indiscretions (especially a certain recent larger indiscretion) is that I can't seem to forgive myself for them. My mental berating is just absurd. I refuse to let myself be forgiven by others or by myself. It's silly, I guess, because I don't expect perfection from others.

Letting go is another issue all together. I have little slips of paper with phone numbers and no names, old ticket stubs with no event or location on them, e-mails, recipes, lists ... things I have no use for, but have convinced myself that I need for one reason or another. Things I'm too scared to throw away. My whole little life is getting a little too cluttered not only with things that don't have meaning to me ... but things that do have meaning. Only some of those things have negative meaning. I have "the drawer." It's the drawer Alison packed for me when I moved once this summer. I wasn't quite ready to trash it all, but also wasn't ready for the emotional tidal wave that would result in seeing it myself. I have this whole drawer full of physical little items that hurt my feelings. I have my whole little mental filing cabinet drawer too ... I know I should let all of it go ... but I keep getting my little paws on these thigns and refusing to let it leave my clutches.

All of these stupid little things make me feel like I'm neurotic. Mostly because I am.

I think I like Anne Lamott because I am neurotic. And she's neurotic, too. People still love her. People still love me, too. Even though I'm still the queen (or at least the princess) of being angsty for no good reason. Even though I'm needy and long for validation. Even though I give hugs mostly because I need them back ... even though I can't let go or forgive very well.

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