It's been about three weeks since my last post, and nothing has changed.
Recently I realized that my husband is apparently able to not think about anything. As someone who's thoughts never stop, this is amazing and even a little bit inspiring. I frequently think about my mistakes, things I shouldn't have said, or done, or should've done. He rarely thinks like that, he said.
Today I realized that if I made fewer mistakes, I would spend less time thinking about them.
What is a mistake anyway? If you do something that you know is a bad idea, is it still a mistake, or is it just a bad choice? What if you would've known it was a bad idea if you'd just stopped and thought it through? I do both. Anyway, semantics don't matter (although that sort of hair-splitting is so like me).
More importantly, and here I picture myself being dragged by the hair back to the point, and just lost my train of thought again. Damn it.
Right. The point. Right. Um. (Review what I've just written.) Yes, cutting down on behaviours I regret would reduce time spent regretting my misdeeds.
As if I should really need another reason to do better; as if it matters.
Whatever, something matters and that is changing.
Today, again, I asked myself, how many times do I have to learn from my mistakes before I stop repeating them?
Two answers came to mind.
First (or it may have been second, but whatever): Maybe I haven't actually been learning from my mistakes. Maybe that's part of the problem.
Second (or first); It doesn't matter how many times it's been. What matters is that there are no more times.
And so I resolved that today is the day.
And yet I've had this kind of realization or determination so many times before that even I don't believe it. It's scary. I've stopped telling my husband I'm going to change, because it sounds so hollow. As my grade eleven English teacher so memorably said, "Don't be sorry; just don't do it." Pithy but ultimately ineffective, although I don't recall being late for her particular class again, which is very odd.
I remember the year my high school implemented a locked-door policy in an effort to prevent students from being late for class. If you were late for class, you could not come in. I took this as a license to skip a lot of classes.
Anyway (the wheels squeal as I turn this baby around again), where the fuck was I?
I'm starting to wonder if my brain is this forgetful when I'm not writing. As if. It's worse. Yes. A lot worse.
So let's look at thought 1/2. Am I really learning from my mistakes? That's a bit overwhelming and I'm going to come back to it.
Thought 2/1: no fucking more. Three to four hours ago, this had a lot of conviction. Heaps really, until all my past failings came back to mock me.
I have to believe that I can do this.
I also realized something more horrifying today. Something controversial. Something, maybe, I hope, a little, small bit, helpful. But more scary. Am I getting worse? Am I just... Focus on the helpful.
Each day can be a step better. Each week can be a better week. Each month a better month.
I'm scared to write it, because what if I fail again, but some day has to be the day I do the things that I know that I need to do. Tomorrow is that day. The first of those days. The uphill turn.
Pray for me, please.