Sometimes I disappoint myself. I know that at the beginning of the year I promised to try to be easier on myself, more gentle. I promised to try, and it’s not working. I am also perfectly aware that my standards for myself are sometimes impossibly high, but being aware of it and being able to stop myself from beating myself into a pulp about it seem to be unrelated. Reading that sentence back I realize it’s so full of ‘myself’ that I should really stop right here. I’m not a fan of navel-gazing.
It’s just that I have some pretty big stuff going on in my life, things I need to organise, things I don’t want to organise. If I don’t organise them, though, I’ll land up in a puddle in the corner. In between organising those big things I need to do Real Work, and keep up with Other Work (the deadlines loom and growl over there, in the corner, where the puddle might land). And in between those I need to make sure my household runs, people get paid, there’s petrol in the car, electricity in the machine. Slogging admin stuff that bores me to tears. I don’t have time for tears, though.
And I don’t have time to disappoint myself either, so why do I? Crapsticks.