Friday, right before my boss decided to close the office early he asked me for my list. Specifically, he wanted to see all the work I have not done.
Him: Uh, Monday you need to work on this list.
Me: What? I could’ve sworn I had it down to a page (it’s like 6 pages long). And oh snap, is there really stuff on there from 2006? Shut. Up.
Anyway, after spending the weekend at parties and halfway trying to clean the house that resembles an episode of “Hoarding”, and attempting to get caught up on freelance work so this week wouldn’t completely suck, and taking care of my daughter, whom I’ve promised to take somewhere wonderful and have not…today (endearingly referred to as Hell Monday the pregame to Hell Week) I attempt to tackle the list.
And by mid afternoon I realize that there is no way in Hell I can ever accomplish all that is on not only the work list, but MY list.
Sometimes you eat the list. Sometimes the list eats you. My list has eaten me and I’m in the abdomen of List Hell trying to climb out.
What Comes First
Anyone with a To-Do list knows you have to prioritize. My daughter of course comes first. Anything concerning her is first, which includes family, school, fun, hanging out, work (which pays for her) and survival, all come first. That’s all first.
That leaves no time for anything that is not related to her or even second on the list and any possibility of any outside endeavor, like maybe a relationship, is bumped way, way down to the bottom. Until I can effectively figure out how to cheat and connect that which is at the bottom to my daughter. It can be done. I’ve successfully linked pedicures to her, thus nice toes=priority.
Ur not bothering me. Seriously I’m getting more stressed over u saying that. My work is hella behind my house is a mess I have things to do with my daughter and my family and u seem to want some kind of conflict AND the excess shit from everyone else and I’m reading the after a while poem and seriously feel like I’m going. To. Lose. It.
Welcome to Text Hell, a close relative of Run-On Sentence Hell and a direct result of List Hell. Apologies if you were the recipient of that. Imagine what it’s like when I’m really stressed out.
Later I explain that I’m literally getting tired of pretending like everything is fantastic. I don’t hate it. I’m not complaining. Not really. I’m just tired and there’s really nothing anyone can do to help. After all, this is my life.
Unless you want to reach down and pull me out of List Hell. Or you could just eat the damn list for me.
And let’s hope I’m smart enough to let you.
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