Affirmation
Experienced
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2002
- Posts
- 47
“Write a list”, said my doctor, “of all the things you think you could improve about yourself”. He was suggesting this because I told him I was feeling a bit restless and bored with things. I wanted change, but I also needed guidance. Change for change’s sake is never a good thing. I wanted dynamic, vibrant, fulfilling change (I wanted a threesome), but I had pathetically few ideas of how to bring about such radical alterations to my life, aside from fantastical notions of assassinating President Bush, or becoming an adult movie star. Doctor Blight’s list idea, despite being offered through a yawn and an ‘oh, I don’t sodding know’ gesture (he was picking his nose at the time), was at least a good place to start.
I set aside a couple of hours (I have to fill these long, lonely, sleepless nights somehow). I made myself a salmon sandwich. Then I got down to the business of making my ‘self-improvement list’. First of all, I had to decide how to write the list: would I use pen and paper, or would I type it into my computer? The pen and paper idea was attractive, but I couldn’t decide which type of pen to use. Fountain pen? Biro? Crayon? And which colour? Red for ‘dynamic change’, or black for ‘serious’? The computer, on the other hand, offered up all sorts of choices: I could create a database (‘Convis Inadequacies’), or I could type my list into a table, attractively bulleted with smiley faces, or I could create some sort of magazine set-up, and use clip-art to illustrate my points (‘no sense of fashion’, for example, could be illustrated with a photograph of my collection of tasteless ties). The magazine could be called: ‘Rubbish’.
Eventually, I just opened up a word document. Straightaway, top of my list, I wrote: ‘procrastinate too much. I must stop farting around, and actually do something’. Then I had another salmon sandwich while I decided on number 2.
Number 2 came a couple of hours later: ‘eat too many sandwiches. Salmon industry relies on my business. Eat something else.’
I had a cup of coffee while I considered number 3: ‘apologise too often’. I felt sorry about saying that about myself, so I rejected it in favour of: ‘drink too much coffee’. But that didn’t seem too bad a thing to admit to, so I regretfully went back to the ‘sorry’ thing.
So far, so good. I had established that I ate too many salmon sandwiches, said ‘sorry’ too many times, and that I never actually got around to doing anything, except making lists. I rolled a cigarette, and pondered number 4. ‘Smoke too many cigarettes’? That, at least, was something I could do something about: I could cut down, or give up. Giving up would piss off Doctor Blight, though, cause he’s a sixty a day man. And I’d already pissed him off by losing a lot of weight. But still, the prospect sounded appealing. I decided to give up.
Ten minutes later, I gave up ‘giving-up smoking’ and I hurriedly deleted ‘smoke too many cigarettes’ from my list of inadequacies. I had a cigarette while I racked my brains for a substitute. Then I had an idea: I could ask my friends (those that were still talking to me) what they thought my biggest faults are. But the idea horrified me… what if they actually told me them? In detail! “Well, I think you’re a complete tosser, actually”. And they’re the sort of friends who wouldn’t hesitate to let rip into me, because they’re a bunch of sadists. I briefly considered ‘have sadistic friends: meet some new, nicer people’, but my social skills are somewhat lacking these days (I do apologise for that), and such a venture seemed to me doomed to failure.
The night was dragging on, and my list was still limited to salmon and apologies. Perhaps I could combine the two, I thought: saying sorry to salmon? I realised that I was hallucinating, and I snapped out of it immediately. Too many cigarettes, I thought to myself, I must give up one day. Too many cigarettes, and too much coffee.
By this point, I was beginning to hate Doctor Blight. What sort of stupid advice had he given me? Had he ever sat down to write a list about himself? After all, he smokes too many cigarettes, is dangerously overweight, and he offers ridiculously bad advice to his patients. He’d surely have no trouble composing a list of his own inadequacies. But if he had found composing his own list ridiculously easy, then surely he would have expected me to find it equally simple? Therefore, I couldn’t blame him for his advice? Arrrgghh! It was suddenly all so complicated.
I gave up, eventually. But not before I had finally decided upon one thing that I was absolutely certain of: I’d change my GP.
Can any kind soul here help me change my life...?
I set aside a couple of hours (I have to fill these long, lonely, sleepless nights somehow). I made myself a salmon sandwich. Then I got down to the business of making my ‘self-improvement list’. First of all, I had to decide how to write the list: would I use pen and paper, or would I type it into my computer? The pen and paper idea was attractive, but I couldn’t decide which type of pen to use. Fountain pen? Biro? Crayon? And which colour? Red for ‘dynamic change’, or black for ‘serious’? The computer, on the other hand, offered up all sorts of choices: I could create a database (‘Convis Inadequacies’), or I could type my list into a table, attractively bulleted with smiley faces, or I could create some sort of magazine set-up, and use clip-art to illustrate my points (‘no sense of fashion’, for example, could be illustrated with a photograph of my collection of tasteless ties). The magazine could be called: ‘Rubbish’.
Eventually, I just opened up a word document. Straightaway, top of my list, I wrote: ‘procrastinate too much. I must stop farting around, and actually do something’. Then I had another salmon sandwich while I decided on number 2.
Number 2 came a couple of hours later: ‘eat too many sandwiches. Salmon industry relies on my business. Eat something else.’
I had a cup of coffee while I considered number 3: ‘apologise too often’. I felt sorry about saying that about myself, so I rejected it in favour of: ‘drink too much coffee’. But that didn’t seem too bad a thing to admit to, so I regretfully went back to the ‘sorry’ thing.
So far, so good. I had established that I ate too many salmon sandwiches, said ‘sorry’ too many times, and that I never actually got around to doing anything, except making lists. I rolled a cigarette, and pondered number 4. ‘Smoke too many cigarettes’? That, at least, was something I could do something about: I could cut down, or give up. Giving up would piss off Doctor Blight, though, cause he’s a sixty a day man. And I’d already pissed him off by losing a lot of weight. But still, the prospect sounded appealing. I decided to give up.
Ten minutes later, I gave up ‘giving-up smoking’ and I hurriedly deleted ‘smoke too many cigarettes’ from my list of inadequacies. I had a cigarette while I racked my brains for a substitute. Then I had an idea: I could ask my friends (those that were still talking to me) what they thought my biggest faults are. But the idea horrified me… what if they actually told me them? In detail! “Well, I think you’re a complete tosser, actually”. And they’re the sort of friends who wouldn’t hesitate to let rip into me, because they’re a bunch of sadists. I briefly considered ‘have sadistic friends: meet some new, nicer people’, but my social skills are somewhat lacking these days (I do apologise for that), and such a venture seemed to me doomed to failure.
The night was dragging on, and my list was still limited to salmon and apologies. Perhaps I could combine the two, I thought: saying sorry to salmon? I realised that I was hallucinating, and I snapped out of it immediately. Too many cigarettes, I thought to myself, I must give up one day. Too many cigarettes, and too much coffee.
By this point, I was beginning to hate Doctor Blight. What sort of stupid advice had he given me? Had he ever sat down to write a list about himself? After all, he smokes too many cigarettes, is dangerously overweight, and he offers ridiculously bad advice to his patients. He’d surely have no trouble composing a list of his own inadequacies. But if he had found composing his own list ridiculously easy, then surely he would have expected me to find it equally simple? Therefore, I couldn’t blame him for his advice? Arrrgghh! It was suddenly all so complicated.
I gave up, eventually. But not before I had finally decided upon one thing that I was absolutely certain of: I’d change my GP.
Can any kind soul here help me change my life...?