Self-Diagnosis.

It seems that despite everything I currently have going on, I still cannot bring myself to show up to a function with store bought confections. Nope. On Friday night, I stayed up until 10 pm (THAT IS VERY LATE FOR ME … I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING.) making something resembling this:

(source)

 It’s stupid. I don’t have a problem with store bought cake. I knew when I was undertaking this task, that it was ridiculous. “Put your feet up and rest,” I told myself. “Go to bed. You’ve been up since 5 a.m.” But I couldn’t do it. I HAD TO MAKE THAT CAKE.

When Husband got home, he took one look at me and said “You look funny out of your eyes.”

I later realized (while laying in bed trying to go to sleep) I really do have a problem. I actually think I owe myself $80, because that is how much the therapist I saw postpartum would have charged me to diagnose my behavior.

I have MPD. That’s Misplaced Perfectionism Disorder. I made that up. It’s not a real disorder, but I think that is what drives me to undertake pointlessly difficult tasks for no good reason. Why do I spend an hour getting ready in the morning? Insist on keeping the house clean? Why can’t I just let my house be dirty?!?!?!? I WANT TO LET IT BE DIRTY, BUT I JUST CAN’T.

Perhaps it’s just simple pride that drives me. I don’t want to accept that I have limitations. I want to do what I want to do, swollen ankles be damned.

I’ll mull that over while I am spending the $80 I just collected from myself.

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