Voice mails aren’t returned.
Projects are started but never finished.
Birthdays are forgotten.
Laundry sits in the washer for days.
Left-overs go bad (and sit in the fridge for a long time after).
The yard goes untamed.
Coupons expire before I use them (or are forgotten at home).
Dinner catches me off-guard (you think I’d know it’s coming by now).
Cards don’t get mailed.
Plans are made but not executed.
Passive voice makes it easier to admit those things. ‘Birthdays are forgotten’ feels better going down than admitting that I regularly fail to remember the birthdays of those whom I love dearly. It’s a jagged pill to swallow, accepting that I screw up sometimes on a regular basis.
It hurts to think about the things that I intend to do but fail.
It hurts to feel like I am not the person I want to be.
That’s not to say that who I am is defined by what I get done, but when you have little to point to at the end of the day and say “I accomplished that,” it’s hard to see where I end and my failures begin.
Of course I know the premise of just not being able to get it all done. But what happens when ‘all‘ turns into ‘any of it‘? When I heap expectations upon myself that begin to pile so high that I am crippled under their enormity? When I am on my way to tackle that one thing, but I am struck with fear by four more tasks needing attention so that not even the first objective gets accomplished?
I crumble. I am ashamed. I am frustrated. I feel inadequate.
I heap more burden on myself, more expectations. I’ll get it right this week, I say.
And then I don’t.