It's been a weird week. Unexpected problems have thrown itself in the path of what I intended to accomplish, and my apartment is currently the home of the walking wounded.
Mark cut his hand on Sunday, glued himself back together, and is still bleeding every time he changes the bandage. Then Thunder decided to be brave and try to chase a cat under the fence. In the process, he cut his neck on the only goddamn pointy rock in the area.
Which leaves me as what? Ward nurse? I don't seem to be a very good one. I've handed Mark band-aids and attempted to take care of Thunder, which isn't easy because he's a giant asshole of a dog when he's hurt. Mostly I've just tried to keep him from scratching at his neck and dropped him off this morning at the vet clinic.
And what did I intend to accomplish this week?
Oh, lots of things. I wanted to finish putting away all my clothes and have the bedroom properly organized. I wanted to clean and reorganize the kitchen. I wanted to write. I wanted to get back in the habit of doing yoga.
To be fair, the clothing/bedroom situation is far better than it has been in quite a while. I started reorganizing the kitchen (to be even more fair, Mark started reorganizing it by moving the microwave and discovering a far more sensible use for the available counter space).
But there's an idealized version of myself in my head that's doing so much better than the real version. The idealized version gets up when her first alarm goes off. She does yoga every morning. She is organized. She's writing every day. She's blogging every Wednesday.
The real version sets three alarms, because she knows she won't drag herself out of bed until absolutely necessary. She hasn't done yoga in two weeks. She's an unorganized mess who makes piles on every available flat surface. She hasn't written this week. She's a day late in blogging. She's generally distracted.
So, there's obviously a pretty big gap between those two people. I'm probably never going to be that idealized version of myself, and that's okay. But I'd like to be a little better than the current version.
I'm also harder on myself than anyone else is. I know this. Mark gets after me when I spend my days off cleaning, because I should apparently be relaxing (whatever that is). But then he's hard on himself when he "only" does x when he wanted to do x, y, and z. And then I'm the one telling him that he shouldn't be so hard on himself.
So even though I feel like I'm turning into a bit of a hot mess lately, I'm probably really not that bad. I can grudgingly admit I've made some small progress towards a more functional apartment. I'm only one day late on blogging, instead of an entire week. I've managed to put together whole outfits each day for quite a few weeks now, rather than running out of the house several times a week in leggings and a T-shirt. I've kept Thunder mostly intact.
As I announced back in September, I'm not perfect, and I'm never going to be. Maybe one day I'll come to terms with that. Until then, I'm going to try not to be too hard on myself. And I'm going to keep trying to figure out how to get my life together, if that's even possible. More and more I'm starting to think that no one actually has their life together in the way they intended. It's all either a grand illusion or my own false perception. Or both. I think the reality is we're all just sitting around wondering why we can't get our shit together the way we'd like.
In the meantime, it's important to remember the words of Stuart Smalley: