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| I’m just gonna crawl over there and put dirt in that corner. |
I’ve come to a realization.
A realization I had about a year ago. And a year prior to that one. But one which never fully sinks in.
Nothing ever really is done, is it? Sure, you could go all meta and philosophical on this one, but I’m asking it in a very ephemeral, here-and-now kinda way: Why do I feel the need to finish things before I can be nice to myself?
I stay up way too late trying to finish tasks; laundry-folding, bathtub-cleaning, sammich-making, article-writing, etc., etc., etc. And guess what? There is never a moment where I stand up and yell: Cleaned all the dirt! Cooked all the food! Wrote all the words!
Because that moment in time does not exist. Even if I scrubbed every last inch of my house (and my bogglingly filthy children), and even if I laundered and folded and sanitized every last dirty thing…there I’d be, standing in clothes that themselves would need cleaning. And I’d probably have a dirty shower at the end of it all, too. SO I NEED TO STOP TRYING SO HARD.
Not entirely. Not really. I’m far too OCD to leave the cabinets ajar and piles of socks unmatched, but I can implement a new set of rules for myself: By 9pm, LEAVE IT ALONE. No more random social media surfing. No more work. (Unless they’re paying me tons, then I shall scrap this stupid new set of guidelines.) Read something written on something papery. Take a bath with nary a concern for soap in the eyes. (Well, I should still be careful, but I shouldn’t have to talk someone down from a tantrum, that’s my point.)
In short, I’m gonna start being nicer to myself and actually take a bit of time to revel in the end of the day…
…Which will rev me up for a full morning of face-poking, knee-climbing, dirty-making awesomesaucitude.
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