Good excuses have a limited duration. I can let myself get away with certain things
under specific circumstances. I will
try, however, and extend that self-leniency for as long as I can. When I was younger, this could go on for
days, weeks, months, (for some things) even years. Part of the problem with being more honest
with myself – regularly writing in a diary and confronting the elephants in my
mental-room – is that I don’t get the leniency for anywhere near as long. It’s somewhat frustrating to me because I don’t
get to blame anything or anyone apart from myself; being a grown up blows.
It isn't without its huge upsides though. I get to do more because I'm not constantly
procrastinating. I can only get away
with that for so long and I'm happier as a result. I find I do less
manic-running-around-trying-to-get-everything-done-in-bulk, which eventually
leaves me stressed, shattered and subdued.
I won’t want to do anything after all that. It’s just easier if I work at things slowly
and systematically. I guess it’s a good
thing I don’t get to keep my excuses for as long any more.
The problem with this “can and will do” attitude is that
when you sit down to do something like- oh, I don’t know? – update your blog
that you haven’t touched in some time, you feel the guilt from the excuses you’ve
made that have resulted in nothing happened.
I inevitably think of the wasted time where I could have done something
better; how many films have I watched where I could have been doing something
better, like my blog, or working on my short fiction or writing poetry,
painting, drawing? So many things I
could –and probably should have been doing – but I haven’t.
It’s a double edged sword.
What am I really talking about? I'm talking about the excuse I gave myself of
having moved house. Yes, Internet, I
have moved house. I've left the house
where I was in Preston and I've come back to my home town, where I work and
where my Mum lives. Things are
considerably easier. I live within
walking distance of where I work, the local amenities are great and I'm not far
from town. It has been a big adjustment
though. The situation has forced me to
face certain things; my terrible ability to control a budget, the obsessive-compulsive
tendencies I have around cleaning and certain things being orderly, my stress
levels and my Gran dying. Worst of all,
the way they all tie in together in some weird little mess in my head.
My sister likes to invite me over when she has necklaces and
bracelets knotted together. I will sit
for hours and undo the tiny knots and pull them apart, usually with tweezers. Several cups of tea, a lot of patience and
concentration later, I’ll end up with separate, distinct pieces of jewellery
along with a bucket of gratitude from her.
What I'm doing with the bundles of stuff in my head is not dissimilar to
this situation; it requires no less concentration, patience or tea for that
matter. It’s difficult and
uncomfortable. It has to be done though
and I am happier as a result.
Somewhere in all of that though, I have allowed myself a
free pass to not do things that I don’t need
to do, like working on my short fiction or updating this blog. I have a tendency to be way too hard on
myself. The week I was packing to move,
I set myself a list of things to do.
None of those things had anything to do with packing or moving. None of them involved cardboard boxes or
parcel tape. Did I get a single one of
them done? Did I heck! Did I start to beat myself up for it? Of course I did! I realised not long after I began how
ridiculous that was. Who has time to do
anything towards their writing project when they have more books than the local
library that need packing? It was an
unrealistic and pointless expectation of myself. I do it a lot. The problem is, I see-saw from high
expectations to excuses in abundance for doing nothing. The
bigger issue is as well, despite some self-worth concerns before I sit down to
write anything, I enjoy what I’m doing right now. It chills me out and I enjoy doing it, so why
wouldn't I do it?
Amongst my other goals for this year, one of the bigger ones
and a later addition to the mix, was the realisation that a lot of things in my
life zig-zag from one extreme to the other.
The last time I lived alone, I craved company because I felt so alone,
but when I had it, I needed the solitude because I couldn't handle it. I plough through a video game for a week and
wonder why I haven’t made any progress on the painting I was doing or the short
story I wanted to work on. I stay up
late, not paying attention to the time and get up late for work the next
day. This year, as much as my goals are
to write more, read more and many other things (like living alone – tick!), I
also strive to find balance; between my private time and the time I spend with
those I love; between writing, reading, watching that never ending list of
films and shows I want to see; between work and home life. Striking the balance. I have no doubt I am not the only one in the
world who has and will struggle with this.
I suspect that my hunt for this balance will never be completed. Knowing how life can be, the moment I strike
that balance, something beyond my control will tilt me in one direction and I’ll
have to balance up again. I'm going to
have to work on this for the rest of my life.
I'm OK with that.
I'm happier than I've been in years. I have a huge project to work on – getting my
house exactly the way I want it – amongst the other things I want to
achieve. I've also managed to make a new
friend. His name is Patrick. Say hello to the Internet, Patrick.
Amongst all this though, I'm happier and more aware that I
need to strike the balance. Any balance
I do achieve, I want to have all the things I've talked about above (particularly
the cups of tea) but all at the right time and in their proper place. I do love a challenge.
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