Category Archives: Other People

I tell myself that I dislike perfection, that I am drawn to the flawed.  When pressed, I explain that I don’t trust perfection, that there’s something about it that rings false to me, that I just don’t have time for it.  And I’m sure that’s mostly true.

My kids dress themselves, so their outfits are rarely coordinated, except by the most abstract of young-boy fashion standards.  It’s all I can do to mow the lawns once a week, so often the edges go untrimmed, the weeds are left unpicked.  And my husband and I often find ourselves running late for whatever, so we may go days without really connecting.  Right now as I’m typing this, there’s a giant smudge on the right lens of my eyeglasses, and I may, or may not, get around to de-smudging it.

The thing is, not only do I not have room for perfection in my own life, I am instantly suspicious of those veneered individuals who drop words like “blessed” and “wonderful” with such frequency that it starts to seem almost like a verbal tic.  I’ve written before about the odd sense of pleasure I get in catching glimpses of strife in otherwise perfect looking couples in the park.  Just those small moments where mom will say, through a smile of gritted teeth, “No dear, I asked you to bring the sunblock…” It’s not that I enjoy seeing anyone else in an unhappy moment — really, I’m not happy that little Johnny is at risk of getting a sun burn at the park, or that dad will get the guilt treatment later on for allowing said sunburn to occur — it’s just that I find those instances so relate-able, like a quick psychic bonding moment on the fly.  I send out a silent “Umm hmmm.  Man, we’ve all been there…” to the other couple and am oddly comforted to know that it’s not just me.

The potential problem pops up mostly when I don’t ever see those chinks in the armor of domestic perfection.  That’s when I start to get restless.  That’s when I have to resist the urge to pick, to poke.  To ruffle.

Clearly I’ve got issues.  It’s entirely possible that my strong distaste for perfection is just a defense mechanism, perhaps just a bit of overcompensation on my part, no?  If I were to strive for perfection and fail, well, that would suck, wouldn’t it?  Isn’t it much easier to just play it down with a well-orchestrated, off-handed “Who needs perfection anyway”?  And people might be tricked into believing that I just don’t give two hoots, until I blow my cover by penning a suspiciously long blog post on perfection…

image from:http://www.flickr.com/photos/tatemillerton/1586671508/

… I actually suck at paperwork.

It terrifies me a little that, in this family, I am the designated paperwork minder.  Remember me?  The mom who almost didn’t get her son enrolled in kindergarten because she forgot to return the required confirmation paperwork?  I am also the one who handles our taxes, the one who spearheaded the refinancing of our home, the one responsible for making sure all our car registrations are up to date.  (Oh, that reminds me…)  Eek.

So perhaps it’s no surprise that I kinda missed out on the whole open-enrollment benefits thingamabob at work.  As a result, I’m now stuck with the default coverage that my company has picked out for all slackerlicious employees like me who can’t muster the energy to navigate their way through the convoluted maze of health care options.

It’s the bureaucratic equivalent of the ostrich sticking its head in the sand, and it always, always, comes back to bite me in the end.

These were the thoughts running through my head last week when I found myself in a low end strip mall optical center, leaning back slightly, trying to avoid the foul breath of the underpaid third key manager.  Her name tag said “Audrey,” and she was six feet tall, if she was an inch.  She had an oddly shaped Frankenstein-like head, covered with a thin drape of hair (with bangs!), and she wore thick cherry red press-on fingernails.  She was leaning towards me, and she was speaking.  “It does not appear,” she said, her deep voice affecting some approximation of a feminine tone, “that you have eye care coverage.”

We spent about twenty minutes on the phone, trying to track down the 411 on my coverage, until I finally called uncle and decided to go home and figure things out there instead.

I don’t mean to appear ungrateful — although I get how I may come off  that way…

… and even though I mucked things up by not taking advantage of the very generous optical plan that my company offers, I at least have the flexible medical spending account, so I can cover the cost of three months of new contact lenses with my pre-tax dollars.  So there’s that.

I must have health care on the brain right now, what with the current debate raging in Congress, and across the nation, about a major  overhaul to our health care system. The thing is, that while intellectually I get that a  system that ensures health care for all is a worthwhile goal, my experience in the public sector has lead me to doubt the capacity of the government to provide such a thing effectively.  Which isn’t to say I don’t think we should continue to strive for an improvement to the current system, it’s just that I’ve seen the inside of the sausage factory, and it’s not good.