Here’s a fun fact about your feces flinger that might not be instantly apparent about a person who prides themselves on poorly punctuated (but accurately alliterated!) poop puns – I’m a piece of shit perfectionist. They say admitting you have a problem is the first step, but I think something is wrong with that step. Hold on I’ll get out a hammer and fix it real quick.
Okay I’m not THAT kind of perfectionist. Yes I like a clean house, but I *have* to have that room in the back that is just a complete clusterfuck of crap. As well as 2-3 kitchen drawers dedicated to the same purpose. And my “mail organizer” is a poorly sorted sewer of missed RSVPs and expired coupons.
However…. some things turn me into Anal Anna faster than Debbie can do Dallas… mainly school and anything to do with my writing “career.” (And that term is used more loosely than Debbie’s ‘dugout’, if you’re pickin’ up what I’m layin’ down).
A true lady doesn’t reveal her age (or spend months crafting poop jokes, but I digress) so we’ll just leave it as I’m not a “traditional” student. I breezed through high school with a 3.57 GPA while still being named “Class Slacker.” Afterwards I decided to pursue my interests in slacking as opposed to grade point averaging, and I rocked that shit out for a decade-ish.
A year and a half ago I got a hair up my ass and decided to give it the old college try, literally. Nearing the end of my third semester, my 4.0 cumulative GPA is at risk due to only 1% leeway in--of all things--a fucking creative writing course. Apparently throwing a turd into every tale isn’t creative enough. My first “BIG” assignment in said course came back this week with a grade of 48/50. 96%. And I’m beyond fucking pissed. Especially since I queefed out a 104% on my latest Intermediate Algebra exam, and polynomials can go factor themselves as far as I’m concerned.
While I don’t really have a major (meaning the one I chose is embarrassing and I haven’t gotten around to fixing that yet) I’m supposed to be a creative writing major. Yet the class that’s destined to fuck up my GPA is an INTRO to creative writing class. And keep in mind, I *have* an A now--I just know what’s coming. Because in my very near (as in due next week) future is a giant poetry assignment, and if you’ve read this you’d know I’m no Robert Frost or Dr. Seuss. Hell, Napoleon Dynamite’s portraits are more impressive than my prose. I couldn’t shit out a sonnet if my life depended on it.
Not to mention my 10-month old writing career hasn’t landed me a giant advance for a novel to be made into a summer blockbuster film. FAIL!
So what does the perfecter of poop do when she might not come out on top? Quit. Probably. I might as well flush a year and a half worth of hard work down the drain. Oh I’ll continue wading through the sewage of this semester… but after that, I’m out. If I can’t be perfect, I might as well give up. Right?
I’ll continue to be used as the toilet paper of society in a general purpose customer service job until the day I mercifully mutate into a lifeless mound of mulch.
Or….. I’ll build a bung bridge and get the fuck over this anal obsession with perfection and move on with my god damn life. At least I’ll always have a great ass to fall back on.
Wait is that cellulite? Shit.