When I do things I feel I know how to do, I try to do it right. And then some. I've been called a perfectionist. Perfect is what I strive for. Maybe I was Japanese in a past life. Working on my house especially. My repairs, additions, have to be good enough to satisfy me. I cut a 2x4, it needs to be the correct length. down to a sixteenth of an inch, if not perfect. If it isn't, I'll probably still tack it where it goes, but I feel I made a substandard repair or whatever. I'm perfectly willing to accept that when it's a nailer, or something. But appearances count. When I'm painting or doing drywall, it has to be perfect. If it isn't, I'm a huge failure. But it does have an upside. I think I'm pretty skilled at drywall now. And alot of other things. And I've applied this same strange drive to everything else.
I heard once in AA that alcoholics are often perfectionists. I believe it. I didn't used to be, but my perfectionism has come over me on par with my drinking problem. Though I'm not the one who has a problem with it. I tend to be overly correct and polite in my business and social relations. I don't know why. I'd probably do your wife, if she were attractive and willing, if I met her on the street. No, scratch that, I would. But if you contracted me to do some remodeling, I wouldn't touch her, if she were naked, wet, and covered in vegetable oil. That's my morality. I won't touch a girl under eighteen, but that's cause I don't want to be a *********. Though sixteen, seventeen, they tend to be quite attractive. It's a legal problem.
Another, is I want my life to be perfect. Not anyone else's idea of perfect, mine. Barring an attractive wife, two kids and enough money to support all that, it is. But, I always strive for better. Better economy, car ( Mine's a ****-box), home ( And I'm working on that), and happiness level. Currently I'm two inches away from a police stand-off, in which I take sixteen bullets at point-blank range, and they find six hookers dead in my front room, curiously unviolated. Maybe this perfectionism takes it's own toll. I hold on. I try to control myself. I only drink and jerk off on the weekends. If I could have sex, like every other person on the planet, I might cool out. But again, my perfectionism gets me. The woman has to have a fairly good body. And being who I am, this is extremely hard to come by. If I could settle for a fat slob, I'd be made.
So I guess the whole point of this is how I'm unsatisfied, and unfulfilled. And no, I don't want to swing that way. Not perfectionism this time, just sexual preference. I try so damn hard to make everything come out right. I've destroyed myself and my life, and I'm just trying to get back on with my ****. My dreams, my hopes for the future. It just makes me feel like a failure when I try so hard to do it right, and it comes out so ****** up. Maybe I'm a failure. No, on second thought, I AM a failure. A fuckup, and generally worthless. But I'm trying to get it right. In everything else, I'll take second class. In my efforts, I will accept no more than the best. I've wasted too much time on anything less. I am damn good at getting ****** up though. Maybe my priorities have changed?