Who said I don’t like perfect?

My eyes open. It is raining outside. Oh so sweetly.
My hands search for my cellphone. 04:37. I thank the Lord for waking me up so early and I close my eyes again.

I don’t know wether my eyes or my ears opened first. But then I saw the light outside through my window, a few hours ago it looked the same. The rain was as sweet as before.
Realizing this was is the last day of the workweek, I searched for my time indicator, bringing it before my eyes, open them and seeing it shows 07:15! I got up in a rush, remembered I was supposed to wake my sister up at 07:00.
My sisters’ colleague picks her up every morning to go to work. That day they had to go to town to get supplies for the store they work at. They had to be underway, but everyone in my house and at her friends’ got up late.

That day a particular event made me begin to realize I am not as different as I tought and always said I was.
The night before, in fact a couple nights before, some tiny voice kept telling me to gather my ballet uniform and keep them somewhere close to my work/school bag. But, I didn’t feel the need to obey, untill…
Not untill I found myself waking up late and not being able to find my thights. I could just take something else to wear instead,but there was that nagging urge that I had to have the bodywrapper.
It felt like I couldn’t resist it. It made me loose a ride, but still I kept looking for it.
And find it I did. After several doubtful moments of trying to give up, I found it and finally started worrying about getting to work.
In my mind a thin thought began rising, saying; I thought you didn’t like perfect. I tought you hated perfect and everything that had to do with it.
I tried not to pause and give the thought ground to win, but it stayed in my head. During that day it gradually took up more space in me.
I gathered multiple moments when I didn’t do something because I thought it wouldn’t be complete, it wouldn’t be perfect. Many times I did things and put in my everything, because I wanted them to be perfect.
So, what is the perfect that I hate so much and why do I hate it?
What is the definition of perfect?
I don’t like plastic people, I don’t like looking all plastered outside and being all nice to everyone and having everything figured out. Having my room neat all the time, having all dishes washed immediately, all laundry done.I honestly cannot have the whole place spotless, I will single-handedly bring a crumble into something that looks to perfect.
I don’t really know why.
I like organised chaos, I like things almost neat and not perfect.
But then, I do like some things perfect, as I wrote before.
For example, my ballet uniform, the food that I prepare.
I guess I have my own sense of perfect. My perfect is almost neat, with a few crumbles.
So, I used too. I used to say I don’t like perfect, not understanding what perfect meant to me.


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