Friday, 24 October 2014

Bye-Bye, Miss Perfectionist!

As soon as I awoke from the deepest, warmest and loveliest sleep earlier this morning, a glimpse of panic - for a mere, yet seemingly long second - flickered through me, before slipping away. Then I placed my head down on the pillow and exhaled a sigh of relief: panic certainly wasn't destined to affect me today. Instead, I've been inflicted by such an overwhelming stream of emotions - happiness, pride, gladness and many more which I cannot put a name to - that, if it were to arise, panic would be sitting at the very bottom of the pile. After all, why would I need to fly into a storm of worry if it is no longer - or at least temporarily - unneeded? Ah, that's the pleasure of half-term: everything, including the frightfully early starts, go out the window. Literally.

A while after listening to Ed Sheeran in bed - which might have brought upon me a curse that binds me as a loyal, Sing-a-long fan - I finally mustered the strength to drag myself out of bed, resisting the urge to return to my safe haven for another few minutes. Sure, I might tell myself that, if I close my eyes for what seems like a few seconds, it won't have a knock-on effect on what I need to do, yet the result is often more or less against my wishes: how can such a perfectionist bear to be racing around like a Formula 1 car in a frantic panic after having a lie-in on a school day? Ugh, the thought - and possibilities behind it - of being caught off-guard sends shivers down my spine!

Anyway, it's about time that Miss Perfectionist (a.k.a moi, unless you didn't receive the well-written memo) does go back to bed while her fun-seeking and not-so-perfect sister, Miss I-Don't-Give-A-Damn, re-emerges from her bedroom in the style of a bleary-eyed teenager and conjures a spell consisting of fun, pleasure and significantly more magic than the Charmed Ones could muster.

Miss Perfectionist has been working non-stop for nearly the past two months, the effects of which are becoming more noticeable each day; her eyebrows, once heralded as Cara Delevingne's muse, look as overgrown as a forest planted with bushes, perhaps more out-of-control than Hollywood's wildest child. Despite her efforts to steer clear of energy boosting drinks that might make her develop a bullish nature, Miss Perfectionist has struggled to keep alert, run at the speed of light and perform at her highest possible function. Instead of paying attention to her teachers in class, she dreams of going on a break where stress, flagging levels of energy and indeed hairy problems don't exist. And, having lost precious moments to fighting her trademark impatience, her wish has come true: a holiday beckons.

While she is away, the other Miss - whose interests lie in starting (and certainly enjoying) parties - will be taking over, squeezing as much juice from the upcoming week and few days as she can. Although her personality might be different to self-confessed goodie-two-shoes, Miss Fun (the other name would take her the whole of next week to write down) still retains the lovable traits that define her sister - except that they are maxified and given a special touch while the party-seeker has claimed the throne.

The bottom line is that, now that stress can thankfully be pushed to one side, I wish to return to my fun-loving roots and jump into a pool floating in a bed of enjoyment. I want to remember what it feels like to swim in a icy-cool pool, shivering as I dip my toes into sub-zero temperatures and embrace the chill that sneaks up on me. I feel alive when submerged in such an environment or, in fact, anywhere that produces a feeling that cannot be shrugged off the moment that I walk out of the place which produced it.

Emotions run high when I'm visiting new and familiar places; it's a break from the ordinary, escaping routines I would give up in a heartbeat. My heartbeat quickens at the thought of going on a journey, which I'm keen on doing this and next week because time - which, depending on circumstances, I either appreciate or reserved the deepest hatred for - is the source of my excitement. While it is sitting next to me, I shall gain the most out of its presence, using its magic for my personal benefit. Otherwise, I will be soaked like a damp sponge in disappointment if I don't use it once I'm out of time: a heavy feeling that, like a miserably grey cloud, would probably hang over me for ages to come.

Since Miss Perfectionist has given up the fight and slipped into her (perfectly straight) bed, I'm readier than ever to throw myself into a bowl of joy. Whether it is in the form of days-out, taking it easy at home or whittling the hours away in a KitchenAid mixer, I'll get my slice of happiness one way or another - you can be assured this fun-loving girl will not be tricked by time.

She will love every second, minute, hour, day and week of it. I certainly will.

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