I'm not really good at anything - no, that's not quite true. I'm decent to good at hundreds of things - but I'm not great at anything. I'm just kind of . . . middle of the road, and it bugs me. I'm not great at renovating houses or decorating, I'm not an amazing musician, I'm a passable writer, but little better.
Cooking? Yeah, I can manage.
Sewing? If I have to.
Drawing? Maybe, if I have something to look at in front of me.
Computer shite? Eh, I could pass tests and get a job, but that's not saying much.
Sports? I'm okay at soccer, haven't played anything else in years.
The list of things I'm okay at could go on for days, months, years, but I don't excel at anything. I look at my husband, and I'm amazed at the things he can do with a computer and some typing, things I can't even begin to comprehend, not to mention the things he can create if he's left alone in the kitchen with well stocked cupboards. My sister-in-law is a bitch out of hell, but man can she sew. hanch, K'wyn . . . holy fuck can they write, and K'wyn is a fucking genius, even outside of the part where she got a certain number on an IQ test. Going out with my camera . . . I think I'm good at that, and then I look at someone else's work and I want to throw my film (or memory card) away with a 'why bother' of disgust.
Comparing my stuff, what I do, to other people is stupid, I know. It's not a competition, I know. So why do I let it bug me when everything I do is passable at best? I think I'd be happier with all out failure, because at least it would mean something.
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