I’ll do it tomorrow, I always think.
There’s plenty of time.
But tomorrow never comes and the time slips away.
Suddenly it’s been two weeks and I’ve nothing tangible to show for it.
Nothing visible, nothing that seems important.
But I have done things.
I finished reading No You Don’t: Essays from an Unstrange Mind,
Nerdy, Shy, and Socially Inappropriate, and
Library of Souls (the 3rd Miss Peregrine book).
All really good reads.
I’ve sketched drawings, played piano,
made more money in one week than I had since before becoming a mother.
I helped friends, cooked food, wrote a bit in my journal.
Caught up on sleep, worked out at the gym.
Began thinking about my NaNoWriMo novel ideas.
Helped my children with their projects.
Why then does it feel as though I’ve done nothing?
My house is cluttered.
I have too much stuff.
The disorder stifles me.
Too much to do.
So much left undone causes me to forget.
My accomplishments slip from my memory.
It takes so much effort to recall what they were.
Yet my failures are so easy to see.