Can I Live?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Take a Chance on Me.”

Listen, I’m not much of a risk-taker.

I make plans, and I have an agenda for everything.  I actively keep a planner, and am constantly in the act of writing a To-Do List. Besides arranging asinine calenders, I have an absolute flawless time-card. I’m never late.

My weakness with my procedures is execution. For someone who devotes her time to routine and tidiness, I am an extraordinary procrastinator. I will have a deadline for an assignment due in two weeks, spend all my time planning out my ideas and drawing outlines, then watch as the dates flip by until I can wait no longer to begin the project, which is usually two very stressful days before the homework is required.

My redeeming quality? Perfectionism. Fastidious about all things detail-oriented, I harrow in on specific grading criteria and destroy any chance of mark-downs. However, being a perfectionist has extreme disadvantages.

For example, the one time I took a chance was a disappointingly average display of risk.

Scrutinizing the mirror, I frisked my appearance for any fixable eye sores. There was frizz escaping like static from my scalp, but a squirt of silky Argon oil smoothed down the betrayers. Little bits of toothpaste dribbled down my chin. Wiped those off, then applied foundation. Then I searched harder, disliking the way my nose feels too broad at the end or a little too stumpy for the daintiness of my lips, but there’s nothing to do about that. Yet, my face felt imbalanced with the sudden realization of my-nose-is-just-too-wide. 

With this mindset, there was only one thing I could plan to do.

I was going to pluck my eyebrows.

Now, there is a delicate art surrounding the shaping of ones’ brows. There are templates you can use, but everyone has a different opinion on what shape looks best on which face and how you should go about your business. Knowing this, I decided that I was simply going to do it. It was a pretty vast chance to take for someone as anal about details as I. So, I stole my mother’s favorite leopard print tweezers and ripped out the few precious blonde hairs I had.

The end result wasn’t absolutely horrendous, honestly. I have such a square jaw that the angle I created for my brows was almost flattering. It did nothing to balance my face, though I’m not really sure what I was hoping for in the beginning. Still, the act of crucifying my own brows was an attempt at branching out. I took the chance.

I’m positive I’ll never be the person who couldn’t care less about what people think, or about keeping a schedule. I’m too used to being the warning in my family, the “Hurry and get ready for school before your sister throws a fit about being late!” my mother threatens my younger brothers with when I’ve got an early class, and I’ve still got to stop for gas.

I’m not worried about not enjoying myself. I do make tedious jobs for myself, and I do keep strict itineraries. Nonetheless, I always make time for what I want to do, and if I even want to have time for some unexpected spontaneity, I’ll block some time on my schedule.

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