I'm sure there are plenty. But in this post I'm going to limit it to three.
1) JUSTIFICATION OF PAIN
Whenever I hurt myself (stub a toe, bump my head against something, trip and fall), the first thing that goes through my mind, other than the pain, is a short and frantic list of reasons I deserve it. Yes, I see papercuts and bitten lips as justice, and I find absolution in bee stings. For example, yesterday I slammed my knee so hard against the handlebars of an exercise bike at the gym that it is now swollen and turning varying shades of red and purple. When this happened, I froze there on the bike for a minute, jaw clenched and eyes filling with tears as the pain pulsed through my leg, and what was going through my mind was:
That's what you get, Mandie, remember that really socially awkward conversation you had with your coworker yesterday, and that muffin you ate from the gas station even though you're supposed to be giving up gas station food, and last night when Aaron wanted to watch a movie but you just fell asleep, and God your car is a mess, and you have fat thighs, and there was that one time you drunk texted your boss.
(I should note that I think I believe on a subconscious level that drunk texting my boss is the worst thing that I've ever done, because when I'm feeling bad about myself or like a complete failure, I always encourage myself by telling myself, "At least you didn't drunk text your boss... today." It always works. If I can go the rest of my life without drunk texting my boss again, maybe I can actually work my way toward building something akin to self-esteem.)
I do appreciate the exercise bike and its swift, effective justice. I feel like that was supposed to teach me a lesson. The lesson was probably one about adjusting the seat height before I ride the bike, but my messed-up brain holds out hope that pointless pain will actually make me a better person on some deeper level. I'd been screwing up a lot lately. That handlebar was sent to keep me in line.
Along these lines, my dentist thinks I should get my lower right wisdom tooth out. She actually wrote me a referral for all three of my remaining wisdom teeth, as a better-safe-than-sorry kind of thing.
I am considering the surgery as a means of keeping myself in line. If I could somehow get them taken out separately, in different operations over the course of a year, that would be AWESOME. I mean, no matter how bad I screw up, having oral surgery every couple of months would definitely be enough to even out the universe.
2) FOOD PURCHASE SHAME
I feel extremely ashamed when purchasing food. I feel ashamed going to grocery stores, though at least I can tell myself they might be thinking it's for other people, and there is the glorious refuge of the self-checkout aisle. But despite these reassuring factors, the grocery store is still terrifying because it usually contains LOTS of people to witness my shame, so I have an empty fridge most of the time.
I feel ashamed buying food at fast food restaurants if I'm by myself. If I'm with another person, it's ok somehow, but you will never see me in a McDonalds or Wendys solo.
But the absolute worst shame comes from gas station food purchases. I hate myself more when I'm in a gas station than I do at any other time. I kind of feel like instead of crappy burritos and clif bars, I'm buying clown porn. I hate the fact that some of the gas station clerks recognize me. I hate the look in their eyes, the knowing smirk, as they ring up my purchases. They can tell when someone's addicted to clown porn. No matter how many times she tells herself she's clean now, she'll ALWAYS be back for more.
My goal when buying gas station food is to get in and out as quickly as possible without anyone making eye contact or conversation and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD do not comment on what I'm buying or ask if I'm hungry. You wouldn't try to guess my mood based on the type or volume of clown porn I was purchasing, at least not out loud, and I see this as a vice just as bad, so LET ME DESTROY MYSELF IN PEACE.
I actually boycotted a gas station for a while because the clerk commented, "Hey, you don't look like your usual self today. Everything ok?"
She was just being nice, but the fact that my "usual self" would be registered at the place where I hurriedly buy my clown porn and scurry out as fast as I can just kind of shattered me. I wasn't even capable of buying anything. I just said, "I'm fine," forced a smile, and left the store with no string cheese. (I did buy string cheese later at a Walgreens to make up for this deprivation.)
But, you know I'll always be back. I lasted several weeks but finally found myself in that gas station again, and guess who was working.
"Hey, I haven't seen you in a while!" she chirps as she rings up my porn.
"That's probably a good thing," I utter, my eyes darting back and forth as I clutch the bag tightly to my chest and prepare for the sprint to my car.
On that note, I swear that starting tomorrow I'm giving up gas station food. This time really for good... I mean it... why don't you believe me...
3) BOWLING
I don't bowl often, and it's been years since I read the Dark Tower series, but every single time I step up to throw the ball, this phrase goes through my head: "I do not bowl with my arm. He who bowls with his arm has forgotten the face of his father."
I really can't make it stop. It's probably a good thing I don't bowl often.
