Pretty sure I’d started a blog post somewhere (on my iPad,
perhaps?), but not fussed to find it at the moment. Something about some
project or other that I’ll probably never finish *sighs*
I see You-Tubers having existential meltdowns and wonder how
they manage to do what they do. I have all sorts of ideas about videos and even
do my work as if I’m narrating a video—don’t you laugh, you all know you do it,
too—and have the tripod, the clamps, the ring light….but know fucking good and
well I’ll probably never put myself in front of the camera. I’ve put a couple
of really lame videos up and one that’s not too bad, and maybe…
But that’s not why I’m here. Today is a rant about something
kind of related, and I think I’ve ranted on this before (no, not the moron in
the White House; don’t get me started), but it’s reaching a ‘fever pitch’ asAdele sings….
The rant is this: why do I continue to deny myself the
things I love to do by not digging in and getting rid of the clutter and
getting things organised? That song is more relevant than you might think. I
could have had it all…but I’m my own worst enemy. I know I can do anything once
I put my mind to it. Moving cross-country and getting my degree despite the
odds and nay-sayers proves that.
So why on earth do I look at the mounds of my art supplies,
fabric, and my yard that needs work, and just say, I need to get X done so I
can do the things I like? Is it a kind
of self-punishment? I know I’ve suffered from extreme lack of self-worth all my
life, but extending that to self-denial (as in denying myself the things I want
to do) is a tad OTT.
I make lists. I make plans. I make promises to myself. But all
I do is sit and watch YT videos of other people keeping them.
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