“I’m a Virgo.”
Sometimes I state this matter-of-factly, feeling so proud and cool that I’m the most neurotic and wise sign in the zodiac. Other times, it comes out as an apology, a serious gripe trying to explain why I do the things I do. I appreciate my self-sufficiency, insight, and loyalty as it’s these traits that make me wave a flag “Virgo for Miss America,” “Virgo for President,” and “Virgo for Queen of the Universe,” (AKA Bey who shares my exact B’Day). But then there are some things I do (like that dad pun I just made) that make me throw up my hands and curse my sign.
“Don’t touch my lap top. Or my tablet. Or anything that looks like a note could be written in it.” I stand facing my boyfriend, bearing this warning manically as my house warming gift the week we move in. He looks at me like I’m sketchy. I am. I’m not a liar, cheater, or closet Etsy seller of knitted dog berets. No, it’s nothing bad at all. It’s because I’ll go nuts if anyone sees my unfinished work. I mean, really nuts.
Though we are esthetically organized, our minds are madness. My method of developing my work has to be done in secrecy and I operate in manners to protect it, so if anyone is to see an unfinished sentence I would crack. I would turn red and burn it. The mere thought of a looming co-worker singing “watcha doinnnn” over my shoulder makes me shudder. Like a mother bird rejecting a tampered with spawn, I abandon any spied upon project in a typical Virgo hissy fit. The need to do things in privacy really throws people off, and understandably so. If it wasn’t for the sense of trustworthiness and loyalty I offer, my relationships would surely suffer thanks to these bizarre secret mannerisms. “Just don’t touch it okay.” Cue tears.
I worry myself sick.
Literally. I have so many intestinal and esophageal issues because I over analyze things to the point of ulcers. Sometimes I get anxiety just thinking I have anxiety. I will stay up all night worrying about a scratch my dog has or a kibble they didn’t eat. I’ve had an abnormal amount of doctor’s visits for someone my age because of my constant “ailments.” I’ll think about my health, the health of everyone I know, my work performance, things I haven’t done yet, decisions that I’ve made, a bad joke I told last month, outfits I wore twelve years ago, and it will all spiral into crazy soup. My pupils get big and I get a rash, staring off, stirring the soup. People are scared when they see me stirring the soup. Luckily I can snap out of it as easily as I get into it. Oh my god my life… It’s the end of the world I seriously ruined my life. Why didn’t I take that job? And why did I move in with that guy? Ughhh it’s over. Oh. It’s time for dinner. Pizza. Yay.
I waste a lot of time and energy.
I have to do things “right” no matter how long it takes or how stressed it makes me. While this can be a good thing for the people around me, it can be hell for me. The pressure I put on myself to perform and do something perfect the first time is inescapable. For example, I wax people’s eyebrows at my job. A new client can sit there for twenty minutes while I sweat over meticulously waxing and trimming and penciling each hair into the perfect shape. I also do wedding makeup for brides. I’ve seen hundreds of brides for their wedding day but I still secretly panic each time, trailing off in my mind about how these pictures are for like EVER. These are the pictures that will be pulled out in 10, 50,100 years so that lip gloss and powder have to be just freakin right. I get into a zone when doing these tasks and I absolutely cannot stop until it’s done to my standards. Nose starts running? Oh well! Phone is ringing? Too bad! Fire alarm goes off? That’s what sprinklers are for!
Neurotic as shit.
“You’re one of our best employees, but you’re a little neurotic.” Things have to be… A certain way. For instance, I can’t live with asymmetry. At work, all the pumps to my products have to be facing perfectly straight. Things have to be in order, and I’m not like this with only objects. Sigh. Everything I have to say has to be said. I can’t swallow anything weighing heavy on me because I’m blunt and honest, as Virgos tend to be, and that sometimes gets me in trouble. Having high standards is an understatement. I have wear a certain amount of makeup to leave the house and I have to have a certain commitment of loyalty from the people in my life or I feel betrayed.
I have to accomplish a certain amount of tasks a day, a week, a month, a year, to feel content and proud. Feeling utilized and appreciated is essential to my mental health. When I don’t, I tend to shut down. I fixate on things and have a hard time letting things go. The intent is good natured. I am critical of myself, but everything I do in a critical fashion is for the best interest of others. Having order helps me help others. In essence I get things done and I live an esthetically organized and compassionate life, but my mind is always fixating on something and it can be daunting. Internalizing is my game. Neuroticism at its finest. Welcome to the life of Virgo.
These are the things I, and most fellow Virgos, do.
We form a bond with one another, sharing the all-knowing smile with our fellow Virgo friends. We see each other in the doctor’s office, in the late night study hall, and pass each other looking into anything that will show us a reflection. Why can’t I be cool like a Libra or a Sagittarius? Can’t I just do something casually, effortlessly, and forget about it? Why do I OB-SESS? Because I’m a Virgo, the annoying neurotic and Queen of the World, and I love it.
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