Helium filled expectations

So I made a promise to my friends Nat, Kristen and Nicole that I would start posting again before the weekend was done. Of course, I felt so moved that they actually read this damn thing that I took it too far and declared I would put up 5 posts to make up for over a month of being really really busy. Of course it was Natalie who seemed to have issued the challenge to my overzealous ego by saying she's missed my posts and she's tortured some poor souls by referring them to this blog to read said posts, of which I have not been posting for over a month. I suppose I issued the challenge to myself and then managed to one up myself immediately by announcing that I would make it 5 posts instead of one. This is one of the many things that is wrong with the way I think. Let me elaborate:

Dramatic reenactment.

I am somehow inspired to do something that I would love to accomplish but most likely do not have the time, talent nor energy to successfully carry out. There are witnesses, most likely people I greatly admire, seeing as how they probably were the ones who inspired me in the first place by complimenting me or issuing a good natured challenge or both. I then declare/accept said challenge and take it one step further. Why do I do this? I don't really know. I'm not entirely aware of my actions until the witnesses are gone and my stupid smug smile becomes a distracted worried frown. What have I done?

Personally, I blame television. Books too. I always think of those moments in mystery, adventure or western films/books when the protagonist is issued a challenge by the snarky antagonist, ignorant townspeople or no good rotten scoundrel, and everyone gets really quiet and you can just feel the tension in the room, crowd or dance hall. Then the hero pushes out his/her chest and accepts the challenge adding something to make it seem even more impossible that has everyone gasping, cheering and looking admirably upon him/her. The difference between me and the hero*? The hero gets it done, often with finesse, even if it's to the last second of the prearranged deadline. I just hide behind "I work two jobs now and I'm just so f*cking exhausted all the time." Then I hang my head in shame until the next challenge snaps it back up a little too high above my shoulders.

I can't help it. It's like I need to achieve greatness through some impossible declaration. Though can you imagine if I achieved the impossible all the time and then failed at something minor. Somehow I'm comforted by how much more of a disappointment I might have been had I been successful. This is how my brain has managed to help me survive an ongoing series of awkward and foolish incidents also known as my life.

An endless cycle.

By the by Natalie, this is post # 1. 4 more to go. I can only hope my success does not lead to a downward spiral of disappointment from achieving a miniature version of my dream (carrying out an impossible declaration) and (as a result) being so damn awesome. Let us hope that my victory is sweeter than the cinnamon apple crepes I made my declaration over when we discussed this at IHOP. What better place than the International House of Pancakes to hear gasps and cheering?

P.S. - Kristen and Nicole, it would really help me out next time if you could gasp and cheer the next time I make another such impossible assertion on top of a challenge. Of course, it might also crush my spirit if I were to fail at it later knowing that the gasps and applause were all for naught. Damn it. Just stop me from one upping the next challenge. Please. Help. Me....!

*You may have noticed that I use hero for both males and females. The word heroine always confused me as a child. I think it disturbed me that is sounded too much like something that involves scary needles rather than an awesome/badass woman. Also, heroine reminds me too much of the type of "hero" that still needs a man to save her and somehow still manages to faint. I don't include you Nancy Drew, you just get knocked out alot, it's amazing you've survived with minimal damage.