I’ve always described myself as being Type A Minus. Not Type A enough not to procrastinate; not Type B enough to be laid-back. Maybe part of that has to do with the fact that I work best under pressure. In school, I procrastinated like it was my job. I would feverishly write term papers in the 4 hours before class. I pulled more all-nighters than anyone else I know. But before you go accusing me of being completely Type B, consider that I also worked my ass off. I worked full-time through 4 years of college, and I was solidly entrenched in things like budgeting and time management before my snob-ass-rich-bitch BU classmates had even learned the words.
Further evidence of my internal struggle between overachiever and hopeless sloth is shown by the following:
- I bought a house at age 23, in an area of the country with notoriously high housing prices
- But I’m still scared of pumping my own gas even though I grudgingly do it now. (Don’t mock – I grew up in New Jersey, land of the Full Serve gas station!)
- I manage all of our house-hold finances (which doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it’s kind of a lot when you consider that not all of our finances are joined so there’s a lot to deal with)
- But I have to do all of my/our bills online because I will write a check, put it in an envelope, address the envelope, put a stamp on the envelope… and then let it sit in my purse/car/desk/pocket for 3 weeks until the bill is late.
I wish I could just be Type A. Then I would get everything done on time and not have to rush and I would always be perfectly coiffed and I would actually GO to the gym and learn to cook and have a schedule and a planner and just, I don’t know, get shit done.
Or, at least I could be Type B and not really care when shit didn’t get done, or worry what people think of me, or frantically think about the future, oh my god we’re 23 and we aren’t saving enough for retirement.
I don’t really know which is the better option, but I think there’s got to be something better than this strange mix that I’ve found myself in. Until I figure it out, I’ll have to be content with my struggle between laziness and stress. Which means I’ll spend an entire day on the couch and then stress because the house isn’t spotless.
Such is the life of an human oxymoron.