I attribute a lot of my values, personal views, and behaviors to my parents – especially my dad. Or, rather, to the perception I have of my dad.

Rather it be said or unsaid, a child will imprint what it seems as it grows. It’s how boundaries are created and can help a child feel a part of the family. Adults, typically, want the child to be part of their community.

The child’s adaptation of what she or he believes to gain attention and acceptance is encouraged by the adult.

These behaviors, or whatever, become ingrained and active in a child and can be passed on to the next generation.

These may not always be like-for-like. Just because the dad likes to work on cars doesn’t mean that the son will, for example. However, the son may feel confident about car repair or encourage his children to explore the career. There’s the “in the blood” sort of thing and skips a generation.

Marketing absolutely plays on this, as evidenced by Oreo and McDonald’s. It becomes a happy right of passage from generation to generation while keeping the companies profitable and population predictable.

— I’m already off track.
I apologize.

Well, it occurred to me a couple of days ago that my near obsession with routines, plans, pre-plans, and even self-expectations is related to my dad.

It could be an attributor as to why I test as a Mastermind on Myers.

Dad was…. Dad was there. He provided. There was always food, a roof, and water. But, I’m sure my siblings can attest, the soul – the touchy-feely part of fatherhood vanished after we got to be a certain age.

As an adult, it’s understandable – sort of. He was working two full-time jobs and had his own issues. He was doing his thing.

I’m not here to deep delve into him, but the outcome.

Before he went to work, there needed to be a series of events. Dinner. His hair combed and pulled back. Dishes done.

His clothes are prepared. (He went from one factory job to another and showered at one job. Both factories, one with metal dust and one with sawdust, were both very filthy.

Coolers, three I think, needed to be filled with soda and ice that he sold to other factory workers. There couldn’t be too much ice, as that’d detract from the number of cans. But too little ice didn’t keep the cans cold. It was a delicate balance.

There were some other things, but those are the ones that I remember off the cuff.

There were also the typical things like feeding the brother and sister, laundry, etc…

But my entire focus was getting dad ready, up and out the door, to get him out of the house. I wanted to do that with as little friction and, mostly, with as little interaction as possible. Any disruptions caused delays. Small talk was just that – small and meaningless.

Dad was usually running on four hours of sleep or less per 24 hours, and he did so over multiple years.

Just for the sake of sanity, I plotted and planned years’ worth of my daily hours to effectively and quickly accommodate everything he needed and what was expected.

Any failing, friction, or unforeseen issue was my fault. I didn’t plan or have the resources to compensate.

So… as an adult… I continue to try to reduce the friction. I plan and pre-plan. I create a mental meal plan for the week, which may or may not go through – but I try, even down to how leftovers will be reused as lunches and dinners.

If I don’t meet personal specifications, I feel insufficient and shameful, Less than human, I guess. Even when I have a day without outside demands or interactions, I become self-deprecating if I don’t achieve what I feel is required.


Anything that I feel is ineffective or wasteful becomes an enemy. Why go to another town when everything we need is here? Why go out when there is food at home?

It’s ineffective, takes time, and gobbles up important resources. It’s the expenditure of time, money, and gas that is unnecessary and could be applied to more beneficial areas.

I can’t stand to be idle – with nothing to do – there always has to be something to keep the friction down, to plan, to plot.

Anything against this narrative causes A LOT of stress, resentment, and depression

And, when that is missing, it contributes to all but crippling depression. It’s not the only one, but a major.

So… just like dad… Get it. Get it done. Make the goals and wait for the next goals. No small talk. No frills.

That’s how love and care are shown. Constant and stable expectations.

The fluff and self-indulgent behavior of others is either that they deserve it, because life sucks and they work hard, it’s marketing or society shaping their perceptions, and they just can’t see otherwise, or they’re just plain stupid. Or, just assholes.

Yes, I am all of those things.

I’m just the one who has a stick up her butt, doesn’t know how to unwind, and doesn’t have fun. I take everything way too literally.

When presented with an opportunity, like going to a comedy club, going to a movie, or watching a play, I resent being there and don’t know how to act. I don’t enjoy the company or the event.

And, during the exceedingly rare times I want to unwind, no one really knows how to interact with me because it’s out of character.

So, everything just combines and compiles.

I also take things to the extreme. I’m not an either/or person.

And, in frustration and desperation, I just… scream in the shower. I’m disgusted with myself and weakness – internal, which is matched by my external appearance.

I’m trying not to be so hard on myself.
I’m trying to show grace.

But, again, that’s a slippery slope.
I don’t want to compromise the self-values that I have built over the past 50 years of my life.

I don’t want the qualities, which could actually be * good * and a value to others, to suddenly not be there. I don’t want to be unreliable, and they suddenly think I don’t care.

Having some sort of control is ingrained in me, whether it’s through eating, spending, or habits. Anything else is a compromise that I am unwilling to make or accept.

Classwork needs to be completed as soon as possible to meet expectations and surpass them – since the job is contractual. The house isn’t clean, but expectations – like no mold on the windowsills – must be maintained. (The house isn’t trashed either. I have to fight myself not to rearrange every knook and cabinet.)

How much trash is estimated to be created per day, and when it will be hauled off, is paramount.

It is a responsible life, I guess.

I don’t know if it is a good life or a life of quality.
But it is responsible.