Why we aren't perfect.

I enjoy several activities that may be unrelated for the outside observer: cleaning the house, planning meals, pulling weeds (or at least thinking about how to effectively get rid of them without a flamethrower). It never occurred to me until recently that these all have an aspect of improvement about them that never actually succeeds. The enjoyment comes from that brief moment where the act in it's end, seems complete.

The reality in the next moment is that nothing is ever perfect. The next day I always notice a dusty patch I missed or I don't follow what I planned to eat or the weeds are twice as bad (because invariably thinking about how to get rid of them doesn't actually do the deed).

Was there ever a moment of self-realization when we were young when we knew what we would be up against? Did it ever stop us from making messes, especially for our parents? Did it ever stop us from eating just two more cookies?

I think that's where part of my eating problem comes from, the fact that I know I will never be perfect so where is the harm going to come from. The thing is, I know where it leads and even less perfect is worse than reasonably normal. There is nothing wrong with having some squish on my body but there is something wrong with not being able to move. There is nothing wrong with a dusty patch I missed, but there shouldn't be so much dust that I can't breathe. A patch of chickweed I can overlook but a whole yard overrun will fetch me a letter from the homeowner's association. These are the observations that make us adults.

These are also the moments that trigger my brain that I'm finally full and I can stop gorging on cookies and to put a note on the fridge that we can no longer buy Chips Ahoy chunky peanut butter and chocolate cookies because they are too good.