I feel blind.
Maybe it's because I finally managed to get someone to send me new contacts even though I haven't been to the eye doctor in 5 years. Eyes go a little nuts when they've been using 6-month old contacts that are only supposed to be used for two weeks. When you finally get new contacts, your eyes rebel against the change even though it is a good change.
Eyes are sort of like people.
Maybe I feel blind because I've been working well over 14 hours a day on my fruksis, yet there appears to be no end in sight. Another girl in my lab took over a year to write her thesis, which was only 150 pages long. I don't know why I thought 2 months for twice as many pages was feasible.
Maybe I feel blind because I have no idea where I will be in two months. I have no job lined up, we will be moving to a different place, and my husband may be switching careers very soon.
One thing I do know is that I don't want anyone else to tell me that my thesis is not going to be crappy. I appreciate if you think that my most craptacular work equals someone else's best work. I understand that you think I can't see the end because I'm a perfectionist.
But, how does that help? You know--you understand.
If you can't meet your own standards of excellence, especially when you are pathological about such standards, then it doesn't help to meet someone else's. Furthermore, when you are handing something in to people who have been exposed to your standards for half of a decade, does anyone really think that those people aren't also holding you up to your standards instead of theirs.
These people have watched me move figures one pixel on posters measuring 4.5 feet by 3.5 feet. It obviously didn't matter to me that you wouldn't be able to tell on the final product that the figures were off by one pixel. That pixel means everything.
It doesn't matter that it doesn't matter. I know that it doesn't matter. It does though--it does to me.
I remember a picture I drew when I was 13. It was a charcoal drawing of a woman dressed in ballroom attire,clutching a child to her chest. I loved the picture. It was the first piece of art that I created and loved. Usually there was lots of creation but little love.
The woman was obviously wealthy as evidenced by her attire, but the wealth didn't matter. Looking at her clutch that child made you see that she was unhappy. She was unhappy and so vulnerable. I was so proud of that picture.
My art teacher, unfortunately, wanted me to make the lines darker so that you could see everything in the picture from afar. It had to be darker so that we could display it, and people could walk around like pigeons looking at it.
I still regret making the lines darker. They were supposed to be soft; that was the point. The softness of the picture made you come in closer. It made you vulnerable.
Does that picture really matter in the grand scheme of my life...should it matter? Probably not.
But it does matter to me.
Am I crazy? Yes. Maybe that is why I feel blind.
Some of you are crazy too, though.
Those of you who don't get it, won't get it. It's not about age or wisdom or life's lessons. It's about drive and who we are and what makes us feel "proud of ourselves".
I'm so very tired...and blind.