A job well complimented

As a child, I more or less lived for attention. And compliments, those too. I put on magic shows and dance recitals (and charged admission, of course, I ain't no chump) for the sole purpose of having my entire family sit and look at me, because I was awesome.

This is the same reason that I used to do math problems on napkins in restaurants just so the waiter could see that yes, an eight year old really was doing pre-algebra problems. (A fact that, while somewhat remarkable, didn't put me in the same category as Newton and Einstein like I thought.)

In my defense, I was one of four children who were all taller and louder than me. I had to stand out someway. And while I won't say I was really attention deprived, it wasn't 'till a couple months after the fact that my own mother learned of my ability to read.

But all this is to explain why I've never been able to take pride in a job well done, but I take quite a bit of pride in a job well complimented.

This causes problems when the jobs I have to do I suck at, such as writing papers, or when the jobs are done privately, such as cleaning my bathroom.

Today I'm finding it hard to do the former, and that's why you'll notice my "days left of school" tracker hasn't gone down any. Someone offer to lie and tell me my paper is awesome, 'kay?

Subscribers: 439 (thanks, Kym.)
Days left of school: a never-ending 4.
Wants: a self-cleaning bathroom.