Hi, my name is Erin, and I’m two people. Ok, well to be perfectly literal I do in fact have another person growing inside my belly (weird!), but what I’m talking about is the other person inside my brain — her name is Stacy. You can blame this identity crisis on my mom, who called all three of her darling children by their middle names, thereby ensuring an uphill battle to maintain a consistent persona. Mostly I have learned to answer to any name by which I’m called, but still I cringe when I hear “STACY!” barked out at the Dr’s office and know the clueless registrar means none other than Yours Truly.
Let me tell you about Stacy — she’s a nutcase. She thought her name was really Anastasia and someone (talking to you, Mom) made a terrible spelling error. Stacy revealed herself in high school, tired of finally fighting the good fight to just be Erin, dammit. Stacy was kinda grungy, dyed her hair purple, got a nose ring, went on to college and did, ahem, the things college kids do — namely pull in a near 4.0 in between partying. Hard.
She likes a lot of color and for you to feel slightly uncomfortable in her presence.
Because there is a special kind of cognitive dissonance that occurs in the push/pull between organization and entropy.
She’s a wild child, but the floors better be clean or she will whip your ass.
And of course you know me, little ol’ Erin. My last house was pretty much black, white and gray, with a hefty dose of brown, because that is where I feel safe and comfortable. I am a rational being, and I don’t need any overly decorative crap chintzing up my life.
That’s not to say that Erin, I, whomever, doesn’t have a sense of humor.
She just thinks you might feel more comfortable if the lines are clearly drawn, if things are proper and orderly.
Nothing wrong with that, right?
Now, if you can’t yet tell, there’s a hole in my brain and I’m struggling to balance the two personalities within. For a long time, the neutral, sensible side has been in control. But lately the crazy party ho has been yearning to break free.
Don’t worry — no part of me is actually a ho. That was just a little poetic license.
Anyway, I learned long ago that it’s better to balance Jeckyll and Hyde, lest a monster break free and run rampant all up in my house, or it get so dreary and overly polite in here that no one feels free to do other than take tea and eat crumpets.
Not that I would kick a crumpet out of bed.
And there you have it, I AM a ho — a carbohydrate ho.
At least there are some things all my personalities can count on.
Stay tuned to see how the other issues resolve themselves. My house is a battleground.
Advice (both decor and mental health related) is always appreciated.
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