He’s always there and he’s the sternest of taskmasters. My demon, Mister Perfect.
He looks like Heat Miser and he sits on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. Telling me all the ways I’m falling short.
Listen, if I typed the laundry list of things I need to accomplish over the next two weeks, your eyes would glaze over and you’d be SO outta here. So I won’t. This is a blog, not War and Peace and god knows we see enough venting on facebook.
But I’ve been catching myself over this past weekend, focusing on what I CAN’T accomplish rather than what I’ve been able to get done, and I need to stop it. Mister Perfect is keeping me from enjoying the cool things I GET to do, and is lying to me about all the things I think I HAVE to do. The choice was mine. They’re all cool things—except the grading, which I do flat-out loathe.
So the next time the Mister tells me we won’t have enough photographers at the Silent Auction, I’ll tell him we will. When he says that my stories aren’t well written, I’ll him they are. And if he even dares to suggest that I’m a bad partner because the floors aren’t vacuumed, I’ll remind him that self-care begins with prioritizing, and that’s just hot high on the totem pole this week.
Keeping in mind, of course, that the person who really needs to hear all of this is me.