Every year for my birthday I'd write out five goals. Never for New Years. Birthdays and rebirth. I'd pick something that I wanted to change about myself, my interactions with the world, then I'd create goals around them...and execute them.
One year my goal was "Be nicer to Sarah" which was random because Sarah was a coworker, and not all that relevant in my life, but I think it spoke to my wanting to be more open to potential.
Having Ellie, being at home, my life is a microcosm. The things I want to focus on and change are so internal that they don't even bear discussion.
Am I talking about politics, the economy, the American dream, the lack thereof, soldiers, fortune, education....?
No.
I'm not.
I'm ensconced in a tiny world worrying about tiny things trying to perfect minutia so I can "stat living" the next phase. I think if I eat better, clean longer, organize more somehow we are going to be relaxed and happy.
Just one more task, one more goal, one more project - and instead I'm tired, physically exhausted today, wondering if I really really have to fold the wash. Buy food. Make a healthy meal. Or can my goal to live a disciplined, nae perfect, life wait another day.
I have a dozen calls to return, a sink to empty, a wishlist to create, a gym to join, an ass to minimize, a bathroom to vacuum, a tub to scrub, a husband who's cholesterol is out of hand and a baby that's sick.
I have a headache to beat the band that two full glasses of water hasn't cured, and a million forms to file. I'm tired.
I know people have bigger issues, bigger lives, more to do, less time to do it in...but I'm cooked. I'm done. I'm at capacity.
I'm taking a nap.
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