I want a lot out of life.
I always have.
The problem with this mantra (#YOLO??) is that sometimes I let this drive me absolutely crazy, which in effect, makes my mantra a moot point.
Sitting on the couch, reading stylish blogs chock-full of both delectable recipes and Instagram pics, and then pouting about how my life doesn’t quite read the same way, is the complete opposite of being productive.
After unwinding from an awesome, longgg anticipated, long weekend full of family, friends, barbeques, and the beach, I woke up a little down. As an attempt to distract myself from feeling the Sunday blues on a holiday Monday, I ventured out to the grocery store, bright and early in the pursuit of making chocolate chip waffles. I even skipped a little along the way.
After 30 minutes full of prep-work, waiting with syrup in hand, and watching steam carry the wonderful waffle aroma throughout my apartment, my waffles were indeed share-worthy, just not in the way I had originally intended…
After 31 minutes full of prep-work, waiting with syrup in hand, and watching steam carry the wonderful waffle aroma throughout my apartment, I broke down and cried into my orange juice.
It was one of those cries when mid-sob, you actually question yourself as to why you are crying. And you can only imagine that if I can’t figure it out, poor CP doesn’t have a prayer.
And then, as long as you are already over reacting, you might as well make some grandiose statements about your life. I chose to blurt out something about how I’m not good at anything, and I have no skills at life whatsoever. Yes, it was a Napoleon Dynamite moment. I don’t even have any good skills…You know, like nunchuk skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills…
It’s hard to remind yourself about what you’re good at, when you covet the skills other people have. As I write this—it’s such a frivolous thought, to be jealous of someone else’s skills. CP tells me I should be inspired by what others can do, rather than get frustrated because I may not possess a flair for making bechamel. Or, even better, use what frustration I have and do something PRODUCTIVE with it. I suppose I can try…
To be able to whip up wonderfully, amazing breakfasts effortlessly, it’s going to take a lot more waffles. But, maybe, I can turn this epic fail into something that I can do—write about it…and hopefully laugh about it. That is definitely something I can do.
Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer 