Not good. GREAT.

Okay. Back for the very first time. It's been awhile since I posted but I have things to do. No, really. Been managing an Congressional campaign. Yep. Big timer *brushes shoulders off*

The campaign is going well. Really well. Out of the 7 campaigns that my organization is running, our campaign continues to lead the pack. Or come in a close second. My team is super legit and their work ethic cannot be matched. So, predictably, here comes my neurosis.

My work wife and I got into a fight because I was complaining about my numbers. "It's really annoying to listen to you complain about your numbers when you will hit them. You have the capacity. We do not. Shut up."

Well, predictably, this made me mad. Yes, I am nutty (and more than a little annoying). However, I am me because I don't accept what is "good." I always want to be GREAT. All caps GREAT. I'm that person who campaigns as a lifeblood. As a way to remember that this country is amazing and we are so incredibly blessed to be part of this nation. I have something to prove.

Sidenote: If I'm honest, I'm also mad that everyone else doesn't have my numbers. They have better universes, better lists, better organizers, easier turf. Why the H aren't they surpassing me? It's super frustrating to believe that you're the only one doing the work that has to be done.

So, yeah, we are putting up big numbers. And our race is neck & neck. Which means, I want it all. With a little over 60 days left, it isn't enough to simply have the best numbers for the campaign. I want the best numbers period. Ever. I want to be the model by which everyone else is trained. I want my opponent to be so thoroughly intimated and crushed by our ish that he will never again have the audacity to say that Tea Party values "are pretty much what my values are too."

I am going for glory.

Yes, I understand what wifey is saying. Yes, I am an annoying human being and yes, my ego is too big for most rooms. But let's be clear. I am running against myself. My greatest motivation is internal. Having better numbers than everyone else does not make my race any more likely to go be in my favor.

I don't want to be good. I want to be GREAT.

I mean is really boils down to one thing. That we will do everything - and do it better than everyone- and still not win. And that is the only metric that matters. If we don't win, then I have wasted 9 months of these organizer's lives, thousands of dollars and a lot, a lot or effort.

And that is my crazy. I've only ever worked in politics, so my skillset is specific and often intangible. I actually believe that I'm only as good as my last race. Who wants a racehorse that doesn't bring home glory?

Home, sick.

This is the fourth post I've started since deciding to blog. And I'm not sure this will be published. I feel like these things are a little (a lot) self-indulgent. In the back of my head and tip of my tongue, I think I'm too good to share my silliness this publicly. I would prefer to be naked in front of a crowd.

But I'm home, sick. And homesick. It probably isn't a coincidence that one follows that other. I was thinking about all the things Gram does whenever one of the kids is sick. The humidifier, the vapor rub, the tea, ice chips, the chicken soup that she pretends to have made but we all know she is too busy to actually make chicken soup from scratch, and so on. It's a whole production and I really enjoyed it (the attention, not the illness). In my nyquil-induced haze, I tried re-creating it. And ended up with a fever.

I think I would make a great fiction writer. Not that I am a good writer but I have this imagination and ability to believe my own stories to be true. It comes out most when I'm homesick. I forget the drama, the heartbreak, the betrayal and loneliness and suddenly remember that time Gram read stories from my favorite book while I was propped up on the couch eating chicken and stars, bundled in one of the thousands of homemade quilts that told me I was in a safe place. I take that one moment, break it up into pieces and re-assemble it into scenes that better fit my into the world I wish I grew up in. I don't think most of it actually happened except in my version of the story. The less fun stuff gets pushed aside and buried, only peeking it's head out occasionally when I'm not paying attention.

Gramp used to tell me to keep writing until I felt that I had said everything I came to say. I should've asked him what to do when I don't have anything to say but just want to share.