Have I mentioned I'm in a bowling league?
Every Wednesday night, after scouts, Drew and I throw our Deseret Industries bowling ball bags into the car and make our way to Jack and Jill's - the original location. Because the new one is loud and ridiculous and displays images of Cowgirl Harlots.
The thing is, I'm pretty horrible at bowling. I've gotten slightly better, but my "slightly better" is everyone else's worst game of their lives. Not that this is a new situation for me. Games and competition have never been my thing. The one time we lost in marching band, I loudly cursed at all of the first years who only joined so they could be in the Macy's Day Parade. Also, I'm pretty sure I have anger problems.
We're in a team with one other couple, and we're the youngest team in the league, by probably decades. I always think, Sheesh, these people take this way too seriously! When, in reality, I probably don't take it seriously enough.
Last night, I had my best game of the season. Before I even started, instead of psyching myself out as usual, I thought to myself, Whatever, I'm tired of caring about how much I suck. And I just bowled. And did my best ever.
I think there's something to that.
Right before I started dating Drew, I had given up on men entirely. I said a prayer and told God I wasn't getting married so don't worry about helping me find that perfect man anymore. And then I found the world's most perfect man, like, immediately
I'm just really tired of caring. I worry about the most ridiculous things. Like the window panes in our house and how they'll hold up to the cold weather this year. Like Drew dying a terrible death. Like how quickly the snow melts off of the mountains in the Spring and will there be a drought? Things like black mold and bug infestations. My bones slowly dissolving away inside my body. Being abducted as I walk to my car.
During that best game of the season, I think I got a tiny little taste of what it feels like to be a non-neurotic person with a stable self-esteem. It was so nice. I felt such relief. I don't think I realized how much I had been carrying.
And so, I think I'm just going to stop. Stop caring. About who likes me and who doesn't and why or why not. About whether or not I'm good at things, whether or not I'm fun to be around. About snow caps and bone density. About my inability to look less like death on a daily basis.
This is what people my age posted on their Myspace "About Me" section, like, ten years ago, isn't it? How sad for me.
I'm just going to picture what I want, and do my best to be what I want, and hopefully that leads to something. Something more than the absolute madness that has been making my head feel like it weighs 100 pounds.