I have a problem. I'm having a hard time deciphering what has to get done, what I want to get done and what absolutely can and will wait to get done. Seems easy eh? Well, take a step into the reality that is my brain. Be warned it is an anxiety-ridden environment with OCD walls, control-freak carpet and a disco ball that reflects every single one of my neurosis. It's a scary place. On second thought, step back out before you get sucked into the vortex of post-it reminders, Gmail tasks lists and budget Excel files.
I know what you're thinking. F*ck it all. Take time for yourself and spend time with your family genius. That's all that matter. Nothing is more important than the moments with your daughter, your husband, your dogs.
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
I get it. I really, truly do. Painfully so. But is this practical? My backwards brain beckons all too quick and pushes this common sense so far from my mind it gets blurry. The lines in the sand diminish and I inevitably revert back to trying to tackle it all. This leads me to nothing but feeling like I'm doing everything half ass. Everything half way because I'm always preoccupied with the next thing. The last thing I can squeeze in or get done before I turn in for the night. This viscous circle of a mind game is exhausting.
Dishes overflow from our counter, a tuna-stench fills the dishwasher, laundry overtakes ours and Maci's bedroom floor, the bare shelves of our pantry and fridge mock me and my ever-empty wallet, the dogs literally jump out of their skins they need a walk so bad, my bank account begs me to clip coupons, my fat rolls urge me to exercise, Shawn's work steals him for a Saturday, unfinished projects linger around every turn, winter house prepping is knocking, my dependent reimbursement plan still needs to be worked out, not to mention finding extra life insurance and creating a will now that we have a dependent, speaking of the squirt – she needs a Halloween costume, clothes need to be ironed, diapers washed, pumpkins carved or decorated, leaves raked, sofa steamed, trim painted, curtains hung, mortgage refinanced. Oh yeah and I need to remember to take time to hug my husband, cherish my child and pet the pooches. And this is all after my Mom and Grandma came for a Saturday and cleaned my entire house.
I can hear Shawn say: "Big picture. Focus on the good things and stop stressing about everything else." Stop expecting perfection. Okay. *poof* I'm cured. Except if that were the case, I would've given up Celexa a long time ago and I'd be able to live and dwell in a house with toys strewn about the floor, dishes the counter, work the table, newspapers the buffet, books the shelves, laundry the rooms, bark collars the door knobs and dogs dishes wherever they have pushed them this particular day. A messy house makes me feel claustrophobic the same way a ton of sh*t to do makes my brain feel nuts. I have to somehow learn to live with both these messes, literally and figuratively. I have to throw away my motto: a place for everything and everything in it's place. I have to learn to accept that I cannot get everything done. Our house will be a mess, the bills might not get paid and groceries might have to give way to fast food once in a while. Additionally, I then have to learn how to do it all without it making me feel like I'm suffocating so that I can stay present and enjoy that beloved time with my family. I need a steal trap inserted into this brain of mine where I can dump the "garbage" so it no longer poses a threat to my family, my well-being and my happiness.
Now, the real question. Where might one get such a trap?