I forgot to post last week. In fact, I forgot so completely I was sitting at my desk Sunday night working on a short story before I remembered that I was supposed to post Thursday. I fully blame spending the week working on a job application and, on Friday, realizing I hadn’t check the source quite as thoroughly as I should have that the position was taken down months ago. This was after doing no other writing throughout the week, even though I’m supposed to spit out 600 words a day of creative short story-ness and, yes, post on Thursdays.
The trend continues this week, when I have been late for literally everything. I have not made it to work on time once, was nearly 15 minutes late to practice for Thrill the World on Tuesday, nearly missed my doctor’s appointment today and even failed to get out of the house for Boardgame Night on Monday at the time I wanted to. (Just as well, since we don’t have a schedule for that anyway.)
And naturally, I have all the usual things that go on – work, grocery shopping, etc. I’m joining college buddies for the semi-annual Ren Faire trip – things have to get packed, directions have to be found and so on. I have been shanghaied into baking for the church’s German Fest this weekend. (An event for which the pastor and I have the same conversation every year: he asks me if I’m coming, I ask him if there will be beer. When he says, “No,” so do I. ) Mom is prepping for a silent auction for (again) the church and is asking me when I will get some of my back-burner sewing projects done. I need to do a LinkedIn profile and update the checkbook. The To-Do List never seems to become the Done List.
I have come to the conclusion I’m suffering from Supermom Syndrome, even though my only child is furry and four-legged. There just isn’t simply enough caffeine to get me through what I think I need to do.
Yep. There. I said it. I don’t need to get most of this stuff done. I’m letting everything have priority, when the reality is less than half of it is important.
This epiphany struck when I was complaining to my mother (a mistake which I should know better than to make) and she didn’t exactly tell me to suck it up, but she did say that the rest of my life was going to be over-scheduled hell.
Okay. No. She didn’t exactly say that either. I was complaining about having too much to do and all she said was, “That’s life, sweetie.” This angered me unreasonably – particularly coming from a woman who makes more work for herself every time she picks up a project. And, from what I can gather, most women do this. Everything has to get done. Everything has to be taken care of. God help you if you’re a perfectionist, because then everything has to get done right. No wonder my grandmother doesn’t want to do anything and my mother doesn’t want to try anything new. They’ve been doing this all their lives and they are done.
So, ladies (and gentlemen who do this), it is time we dropped the ball. It is time we stopped reeling from made-up crisis to made-up crisis, fumbling through our days, tripping over the endless must-dos and should-dos and will-dos, then berating ourselves when it doesn’t get done or, worse still, simply doesn’t get done with grace and elan. I have no idea where this notion came from that the ultra-organized and super-productive are admirable. Success shouldn’t be measured by checkmarks on a To Do List. And I, for one, am not going to take it anymore.
Yep, goin’ from dropping the ball to dropping the mic. *ka-thunk*
The Daily Post: <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/clumsy/”>Clumsy</a>