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Thortful thorts.
Jun. 4th, 2007 10:43 pmYou know, when I was a kid i was taught that it's not right to be proud of yourself. Other people could be proud of you, but you were supposed to be self effacing, meek, and wave off praise.
Unless you saved a church full of nuns from a pack of mad rapists or a whole orphanage full of disabled children from burning alive - actually, no. Even then you were supposed to just lower one's head, blush, and announce that it was what anyone would have done.
I see the point, I really do. But the side effect of this disdain for blowing one's own trumpet leads, inevitably, to the child (in this case, me, and I'm damn sure most of you reading this post) believing that they are not worth praise, but should just keep striving for unreachable goals.
Being good is never enough; one must strive for perfection, and never, ever forget one's flaws.
Otherwise you were boastful, prideful, going to come to a bad end. (I used to lie awake at night unable to sleep, terrified, my ridiculously fertile imagination coming up with all sorts of gruesome ideas as to what constituted a 'bad end', but I digress.)
The point is, it's taken me many, many years to get to the point where, just occasionally, I can look at something I did and say - you know, I'm damn proud of that. I done good.
Flying solo in a glider. My novels. My artwork. (OK, some of it. Not all.) My nursing skills.
Doesn't mean I stop striving to do better, just that for once I can look at something and say, you know, I did that well.
I'm pretty proud of this week at work. After not many day's training, I've run that shop all week and all in all, I think I've done a pretty good job of it. I've sold livestock, I've advised customers, I've chatted to people, I've maintained the health of the stock and even made a couple of breakthroughs - the painted wood turtles are now eating, and we're making progress with a sick frilled dragon.
I've got along well with the regulars, and not had to bother Chris every five minutes with questions.
I haven't had a single panic attack. I've kept the shop open and running, and haven't collapsed under the strain of such a responsibility.
Excuse me for blowing my own tuba, but you know something?
I'm pretty damn proud of myself.
of course, it isn't over yet; the jungle carpet pythons have mites, and I'm going into the shop tomorrow to get them out of their viv and treat them. *Gulp* Also clean out a couple of vivs and enclosures that contain animals I really need to concentrate on, and can't take the chance on being distracted by a random customer or phone call. (The shop is shut on tuesday, you see.)
These include the African rock python, five feet of solid muscle and bad attitude with teeth, who won't hesitate to attack, the male false water cobra, who has rear fangs and a venom that - should you be unlucky or careless enough to get a dose of it - will cause you to bleed profusely, and possibly fatally if he gets you in the right place. Oh, and he's got an attitude bigger than he is, and he's cracking on for six feet.
And boy, is he fast.
Oh, and the blood python, who is a vengeful beast and dislikes to be handled. Big enough to break your arm, let alone your neck, and the name? They're called blood pythons because, I have been told more than once, that should they bite you they munch and tear and in general rip the skin up so badly that you bleed a lot.
Really a lot.
Comforting, nu?
At this point you're probably asking two questions. One, why would anyone keep such obnoxious animals, and two, why am I mucking about with them when Chris is going to be back on Wednesday?
The answer to one is that they are fascinating, beautiful animals, and keeping them gives you an insight into lives so very different from ours that we can't begin to imagine them.
And two is an answer in two parts. the first part is that no matter how feisty, how aggressive or how lethal, nothing deserves to live in its own waste, or suffer with parasites. The second is that I still have something to prove to myself, I suppose; I want Chris to come back to the shop and feel that his decision to employ me has been vindicated, that I am someone he can trust to get the job done despite my lack of experience with reptiles.
Selfish? Self important?
Possibly.
But I'm going to do it anyway.
Whatever the outcome, I'm still very bloody pleased indeed with myself.
And I think I have every right to be.
( ETA: )
Unless you saved a church full of nuns from a pack of mad rapists or a whole orphanage full of disabled children from burning alive - actually, no. Even then you were supposed to just lower one's head, blush, and announce that it was what anyone would have done.
I see the point, I really do. But the side effect of this disdain for blowing one's own trumpet leads, inevitably, to the child (in this case, me, and I'm damn sure most of you reading this post) believing that they are not worth praise, but should just keep striving for unreachable goals.
Being good is never enough; one must strive for perfection, and never, ever forget one's flaws.
Otherwise you were boastful, prideful, going to come to a bad end. (I used to lie awake at night unable to sleep, terrified, my ridiculously fertile imagination coming up with all sorts of gruesome ideas as to what constituted a 'bad end', but I digress.)
The point is, it's taken me many, many years to get to the point where, just occasionally, I can look at something I did and say - you know, I'm damn proud of that. I done good.
Flying solo in a glider. My novels. My artwork. (OK, some of it. Not all.) My nursing skills.
Doesn't mean I stop striving to do better, just that for once I can look at something and say, you know, I did that well.
I'm pretty proud of this week at work. After not many day's training, I've run that shop all week and all in all, I think I've done a pretty good job of it. I've sold livestock, I've advised customers, I've chatted to people, I've maintained the health of the stock and even made a couple of breakthroughs - the painted wood turtles are now eating, and we're making progress with a sick frilled dragon.
I've got along well with the regulars, and not had to bother Chris every five minutes with questions.
I haven't had a single panic attack. I've kept the shop open and running, and haven't collapsed under the strain of such a responsibility.
Excuse me for blowing my own tuba, but you know something?
I'm pretty damn proud of myself.
of course, it isn't over yet; the jungle carpet pythons have mites, and I'm going into the shop tomorrow to get them out of their viv and treat them. *Gulp* Also clean out a couple of vivs and enclosures that contain animals I really need to concentrate on, and can't take the chance on being distracted by a random customer or phone call. (The shop is shut on tuesday, you see.)
These include the African rock python, five feet of solid muscle and bad attitude with teeth, who won't hesitate to attack, the male false water cobra, who has rear fangs and a venom that - should you be unlucky or careless enough to get a dose of it - will cause you to bleed profusely, and possibly fatally if he gets you in the right place. Oh, and he's got an attitude bigger than he is, and he's cracking on for six feet.
And boy, is he fast.
Oh, and the blood python, who is a vengeful beast and dislikes to be handled. Big enough to break your arm, let alone your neck, and the name? They're called blood pythons because, I have been told more than once, that should they bite you they munch and tear and in general rip the skin up so badly that you bleed a lot.
Really a lot.
Comforting, nu?
At this point you're probably asking two questions. One, why would anyone keep such obnoxious animals, and two, why am I mucking about with them when Chris is going to be back on Wednesday?
The answer to one is that they are fascinating, beautiful animals, and keeping them gives you an insight into lives so very different from ours that we can't begin to imagine them.
And two is an answer in two parts. the first part is that no matter how feisty, how aggressive or how lethal, nothing deserves to live in its own waste, or suffer with parasites. The second is that I still have something to prove to myself, I suppose; I want Chris to come back to the shop and feel that his decision to employ me has been vindicated, that I am someone he can trust to get the job done despite my lack of experience with reptiles.
Selfish? Self important?
Possibly.
But I'm going to do it anyway.
Whatever the outcome, I'm still very bloody pleased indeed with myself.
And I think I have every right to be.
( ETA: )
