The Life-Sucking Inferiority Complex Always Rings Twice

Correct me if I'm wrong, but for most people, an appointment with an appliance repairman is a mild pain in the ass, not a life-rearranging event, right?

I suspect that I'm really quite ill.

I always pray that they'll show up the first five minutes in that four-hour window because otherwise it's four hours of feeling like I'm about to be photographed and interviewed for Freaks and Losers Magazine. What's he going to think of my hair? Is he going to think I'm fat? I have to vacuum and dust the laundry room plus everything in the path from the door to the laundry room. I have to make sure Eve isn't watching television because I don't want him to think I'm one of those mothers who lets her kids watch television during the day (I totally am one of those mothers). I have to look busy while he's here, like I'm cleaning or teaching my kid Chinese or brokering some kind of major real estate transaction.

Don't most people just let the guy in and go about their business? Am I descending to the point where I'm going to be stopping homeless people on the street and asking them if they think I'm a bad person? (no offense to homeless people -- I've met several who are more self-confident and less whiny than I am). Where does this insatiable and deranged need for external validation come from? Why can't I just accept that I do some things quite well (squash soup), I do a lot of things really badly (volleyball, public speaking, sleeping and waking up and hey, not like THAT takes up half your life), and not everybody I meet is going to like me and THAT'S OKAY (ha ha, do some people really convince themselves of that crap?)

The dryer's fixed. The guy reeked of smoke. He seemed to like me okay, though. I mean, he didn't say anything, but I'm pretty sure we exchanged a glance that was neutral verging on amicable.

When we're home or out anywhere together, Eve stops what she's doing every twenty minutes or so to come and hug me and say 'I love you Mama' and waits until I say it back, which I do, gladly. But I also sort of think 'oh sweetie, don't be emotionally needy like your mother, it makes life and relationships and basic home maintenance so exhausting'. Let's not even talk about what happens when I need to get the piano tuned.

Night everyone. Love you all. If you don't love me back, no problem (but you do, right?)


Anonymous said…
Like you, I prep for anyone coming into my home. I, too, have the same issues. However, I don't let the repairman out of my sight. I am right in there having him teach me what's wrong and how I can fix it if it happens again. They tell you lots of useful stuff, and this makes them super quick! Gwen.
Bibliomama said…
Crap, that never crossed my mind. What a good idea. Of course, then I'd worry that he's thinking I'm mechanically retarded (which I am, so fair enough). thanks for the tip.

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