Practice makes ...perfect only works in theory

I meant to finish my last entry. Procrastination rears it’s ugly head… and I, paralyzed with it, couldn’t bring myself to look at these pages, to remember the entry – ironically unfinished – about my hopes and plans also pathetically unfinished. Sigh.

So what have I accomplished since my self-chastisement on the sixteenth? Should I list a dozen or so inconsequential victories that – by little to no effort on my part – miraculously took place this week? Should I check them off as if they had been planned beforehand? Even though I only “scheduled” them in my calendar after they had already happened? Even though each check mark is indicative of my tight grasp on a manufactured sense of accomplishment? Yes. Check.

[after ten minutes of reviewing calendar]

Ok. I’m melodramatic. I meant to expand the rebuke of last Monday and further pummel myself into a hole. I realize however, I had an exceedingly full week, even though all did not go as planned. Board rollercoaster of Peace Corps emotion. Disembark. Promptly vomit. Check.

Within the last week, I…
- helped prepared an integrated lesson;
- took two language exams at the Alliance Française (botched the test à l’orale, rocked the written, typical of a French lit major…);
- met with the Director at Ecole 8 (received and botched an invitation to dinner, future invites with his family possible in future);
- met Sophie (adorable co-directrice at the Alliance Française) for dinner (future language exchange definite in the future);
- conducted a spectacular PACA session at Ecole 3;
- updated APCD (Associate Peace Corps Director, essentially my EE boss);
- discussed with Keith plans to pioneer a Girls Mentoring Center for the primary school girls in Atar;
- broke fast with Nouha’s family and shared giggles and gossip with her under the clearest night since Ramadan started;
- got some face time and merited special introductions at church;
- took a chance with a random Atar resident and found a semi-respectable if not well-connected family;
- shared dinner, tea, a cooking lesson, lunch zrig, and another tea with said family;
- attended traditional fight staged for the ciid (holiday) of Ramadan;
- celebrated at [insert established PC friend]’s (wore my moor melifa, apparently a Pulaar fashion faux pas, but I redeemed myself by sporting some jewelry gifted to me by the host, I suppose it’s even);
- received and declined an invitation to “biggest soirée de l’année” (this may have been wise, given the presence of alcohol at said fête); and finally
- shared tea with two of my new.. friends (?) [insert two tour guide names].

Check, check and check. Some planned, some not, most good, some… questionable. But check.

So why such a stern appraisal for this week? Why, when I began this entry, did I have such a self-loathing, a taste in my mouth I could not brush out? First, I was afraid to write. Afraid to see my black thoughts spilled out in black ink, undeniable once written. I have been overwhelmingly negative recently, not my usual self. It makes sense that I’d not want to look in my journal’s mirror: doubt and pessimism is ugly. Second, by owning up to this week’s accomplishments, I’d have to face what I thought would be a painful lack thereof.

Turns out, the only thing to face are expectations. My Peace Corps service is a ship of guilt and impossible expectation; I am the crew and my coordinator the absentee captain. I seek his approval so desperately, even after it’s already emphatically given. Each time I talk to him, I set the bar of achievement sadistically higher. When he tells me that I’m the perfect volunteer, I’m convinced he is compelling me toward my potential rather than complimenting me on my present. Anyone who knows me can rightly imagine a distraught volunteer unable to take a compliment, unable to let extremely well enough alone. Perfection is my assignment, during stage, here at site, yesterday, today, tomorrow. It’s a looming check, never accomplished…