The Demise of the Critic

I just booked a trip to go see my family this summer. It's funny. I like to travel, but I HATE planning it. I have almost a phobia about setting anything up and committing to it over the phone or internet, i.e.: via any method but face-to-face. It happens when I plan a party, make a rental booking, set up a hair appointment, etc.. Part of me says, "This is unproven. You may never see these plans come true. You should go there in person and take care of it. That way you can look whomever it is you're dealing with in the eyes and believe that they'll follow through." Another part of me says, "Oh get over it you wuss. You've done it before...everything will be just fine. Quit being so paranoid. Just get on with it."

So, too many times, I'm paralysed by the inertia of being caught behind those two opposing voices and I do NOTHING. Stupid, I know. I think it's what keeps me from being a take-charge kinda gal most of the time. That gal is in there, and does make appearances, but not often enough to shake the impression that I'm not the go-getter I really should be. According to whom? I'm not quite sure on the outside, but on the inside, it's definitely the ugly little inner critic. She's a girl of about 9, but shriveled, a chain smoker and she never, ever bathes. She has a voice like a rusty bandsaw and she will often jump up and down and shriek to get attention. Or at least that's the picture.

It hadn't occurred to me until now, and it's a bit woo-woo, but I may try to squelch my inner critic by physically harming her. This could be fun. I'm sure I could come up with some colourful ways to do her in. Like poke her eyes out with a pair of Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Or take a meat hook to the back of her skull and yank. Or crush her with a Panzer. Mental note: this is an imaginary critic and her imaginary demise. I'm actually eager to see if this will work. And then I'll work on constructing my take-charge gal. Stay tuned...

Postscript: Turns out I booked my departure on the right day in the wrong week, thus transforming a ten-day trip into a three-day trip. Cost me forty bucks to right that wrong. My inner critic was very pleased. She purred, "I told you so. I told you so." for two days straight afterwards. I'll get my revenge... I swear it.