You can’t, idiot.
And if you try you will fuck it up and every one will hate you.
For the longest time I have been sailing down my own little river of denial, pretending I can do it all and conveniently ignoring the pile of failure accumulating behind me.
My stagnating blog.
Half done projects.
Dust bunnies fornicating in the corner.
Schools leaving messages about forms that I was SURE I had put in Boo’s bag.
Piles on my desk at work that I will GET TO WHEN I HAVE TIME OMG ALREADY!
Baskets of washing.
Bath needs cleaning.
Weeds in the garden.
Return that call.
Begging off lunch with friends or a manicure. ‘Come on, it has been AGES! You never have time to do anything.’
Didn’t I do that mandatory training last week? I was sick? Again? Sorry about that…
Really need to make time to get those tests done…
And mop the floors.
And get a bigger medication drawer. Or cabinet.
Chasing up schools and therapists for Boo. Email. Phone. Text. Email again.
When was the last time I washed my hair? It is so exhausting. *add dry shampoo to shopping list*
Add *do shopping* to the list of things to do.
Too sick to go to a meeting so reschedule. Conflicts with a doctors appointment/another meeting/school pickup.
Can we go out for dinner next week? Or maybe the week after? My stomach is playing up.
Just lay down here for a minute. Just one minute. I will feel better if I just rest my head for a second and then I will get it all done, I promise.
Well shit, look at all the mistakes I made. How on earth did I do that?
Did I forget to go to that meeting I scheduled? I am so sorry! I was sure I put it in my calendar! Can we reschedule? I apologise… I know… I know…
How the fuck did we run out of clean clothes? Underwear? I just can’t keep on top of this washing.
Takeaway for dinner again. I know. I am sorry. I am just so tired. And I hurt everywhere.
Didn’t I just clean the bath? How is there pink mould in here? And the toilet? Jesus fuck when will they invent a self cleaning toilet…
When was the last time I mopped the damn floors?
And there are a million red faces all glaring at me, my boss, my clients and co-workers, Boo’s teachers, therapists and workers, my friends and family… all these people who are relying on me to keep all these balls flying around in the air in a perfectly choreographed symphony of awesomeness like I have always done and there I am staring at them wild eyed, terrified, with all my balls laying stagnant before me.
Covered in dust and crumbs from fuck knows the last time I vacuumed.
You promised to keep the show rolling.
You said you could do it.
You can’t do it all, and by trying to you are hurting everyone around you.
Something has to give.
Make a choice.
Or one will be made for you.