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Overloaded
I have this habit of taking on too much. I have an idealistic mind—let’s call her Bertha, shall we? Big Bertha—and it often tells me things that don’t end up being quite true. Bertha tells me I can do anything, that I don’t need sleep (much), that I can get things done four times faster than I actually do them. Bertha gets me in trouble some days. But I can’t quite seem to let go of Bertha. When she’s telling me things, it feels awesome. Like I *can* do anything. And not needing sleep, why, who needs sleep? We can all do with less sleep; we’d get way more done…
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The Pressure Of Self Is A Weighty Thing
Not being the sort to wait things out too much before jumping in, I’ve been throwing around links to this blog with abandon this week as if this newborn blog is something long-established. The piece I’m filling in inside my head but that’s clearly missing to the public is that I HAD a blog. I am used to referring to it. I took it down months ago but I’ve missed having one as an outlet for self-expression, the creation of a public extension of my private persona. What I’ve created, then, from this odd missing link, is this: 1. A need to explain. Witness this self-evident post. 2. Pressure! I…